Walking Dead 1. Part 1

**Part One**

Daryl sprinted through the pitch-black woods, spurred by the frenzied moans of the herd on his tail. The prison was gone. Everyone in it was gone, or dead. He was alone. Spotting an abandoned car on the side of the road, he quickly checked the ignition for keys. Nothing. So he went for the next best thing- he climbed inside the trunk and wedged it shut. He used the red rag placed perpetually in his back pocket to keep it latched, and with his other hand, held his crossbow taut and at the ready. It stayed pointed at the small crack of light where the trunk lid failed to meet the body of the vehicle, all night long.

Bleary-eyed and woozy from no sleep, Daryl stumbled when he got out of the trunk the next morning, scraping his leg along the edge of the trunk and managing to rip it open fairly wide. He used his dirty red rag to tie off the cut, and stop the bleeding. But it wouldn't hold for long. He needed to find medical supplies, and fast.

It took another six hours to get anywhere close to civilization again. He'd managed to stumble upon a cul-de-sac, lined with white picket fences, blue shutters and red doors. He stormed into the closest house and ascended the stairs, heading straight for the master bathroom. He found a bottle marked _Amoxicillin_ and another marked _Asprin_. Daryl took two of each, threw the bottles into his pack, then went about the slow and dutiful business of raiding the rest of the house.

No food in sight, typical. But Daryl was beginning to feel unsteady again. He told himself that if he got back to the woods he could hunt himself something to eat. He was just hungry, that was all. Daryl stumbled out into the street, suddenly unable to control the movements of his own body. The sun burned his eyes. He was sweating and panting, feeling feverish. Two more steps and he went to his knees. Then, everything was black.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl awoke to warm, delicate hands lightly stroking the side of his face. His forehead felt cool, but the rest of his body was on fire, and he quickly surmised that a damp cloth had been placed on his head. Something deep inside of him wanted to flinch away from whomever was touching him. But it just felt so damn _good_, that he couldn't bring himself to move.

He opened his eyes slowly, trying to clear them, and immediately set eyes on a young woman. She had pale blue eyes, nearly grey, and dirty blonde hair reaching down to her clavicle. He blinked several times, trying to clear his head, but she remained static as ever, the image of her never wavering. She was so beautiful that he thought, at first, she must not be real.

"Wh-where am I?" he asked hoarsely. _Fuck_ was he thirsty.

"Just about where you passed out," the girl said softly, her voice melodic and feminine. "We're in the house across the street now. I saw you go down, got you inside before any walkers could get you. Here, drink." She handed him a large bottle of water and he downed it hungrily.

Daryl wasn't sure how to respond. This tiny little girl had saved him? "Uh, thanks," he said shyly, trying to sit up. The pounding in his head sent him straight back down to the couch below him.

"Easy," she murmured, pressing the back of her hand to the side of his cheek. "You're hurt, okay? Don't try to get up so quick. What's your name?"

"Daryl...Dixon. Daryl Dixon. What's wrong with me?" his blood felt as if it would burn through his veins like acid at any moment, and though his head ached to some degree and he felt dizzy, he also felt truly and undeniably _alive_. He could feel everything: denim against his skin, her breath on his neck. His every nerve was alight. Something was very, very wrong.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm going to help you Daryl, okay? But I need to get you clean before I can survey the damage here. Are you alright with that?" the girl asked him.

He nodded numbly, "Don't think I'll be able to stay standin' to wash off though."

She smiled knowingly at him, "I realize that, Daryl. I'll bring some water in here and help you." When his eyes met hers she could plainly see his panic, so she ran a reassuring hand through his hair. "Just let me help you, okay?"

"Okay," he said quietly, watching her walk out of the room. She returned several minutes later with a large bucket sloshing with sudsy water in one hand, and a washcloth in the other.

"Ya got a name?" Daryl asked gruffly as the girl knelt by his side.

"Mmhmm," she responded idly, busying herself with unlacing and removing his boots. She looked up to find him eyeing him expectantly.

"Oh, did you want it now?" she laughed, "My name's Abby. Now let's get these gross clothes off, huh?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with my clothes," Daryl grumbled, but abruptly discontinued his griping when he felt her begin to unbutton his shirt. Abby could feel Daryl's nervousness radiating off of him, but his anxiety seemed ridiculous to her. He had the biceps of a construction worker- not someone who went to the gym to tone their muscles, but a man who worked with his hands. And his eyes were the coolest, deepest blue. What could he possibly have to be embarrassed about?

With his help, she shucked his vest and plaid shirt to the side, and helped him slip out of his jeans and socks. He was down to his boxers now, blushing lightly as she watched him unabashedly. The cut in his left thigh extended up towards his hip. Daryl watched Abby look at it and frown.

"You've got to take the boxers off too. Otherwise I won't be able to get to the cut," Abby said definitively. Her eyes darted up to Daryl's and he looked understandably distressed. "I'll put a towel over you. Won't even peek. I promise," she said lightly, winking at him.

Daryl lifted his hips off of the couch, and closed his eyes tightly, letting her take away his last line of defense. His heart was hammering wildly against his chest, and he was just about positive she could hear it. She placed a thin, flowery towel over his groin, then dipped her washcloth into the warm soapy water.

Abby set about cleaning Daryl's hair first, slowly dampening his dirty locks. She massaged a dollop of shampoo into his strands, her fingers magic against his scalp. Her massaging felt unbelievably good, and he couldn't suppress a groan when she scratched at the spot behind his ears. Abby bit back a smile. Daryl continued to let out small grunts and sighs as she worked the dirt out of his hair. He found his mind wandering, wondering what her fingers would feel like elsewhere on his body.

Abruptly, Daryl's eyes shot open. "Somethin's wrong with me," he muttered.

"You're in pain?" she asked worriedly.

"No, it's kinda the opposite..." he mumbled, almost inaudibly. But she understood his meaning. "Took some shit for the cut before. Shoulda kicked in by now."

"What did you take?"

"Dunno, bottles are in my pack though." Abby reached into his worn bag and found two orange bottles. She opened the bottle marked _Amoxicillin_, and poured a few of the pills into her hand. They were small, amorphous, white, and marked with a lower-case 'e.' Definitely not _Amoxicillin_.

"I hate to tell you this, Daryl, but you didn't take antibiotics. It was E- as in Ecstasy," Abby told him, chuckling a bit to herself.

"Shit," Daryl groaned, "No wonder I feel so fuckin' weird. When's it gonna stop?"

"Well, how many did you take?"

"Two of 'em, just before ya found me."

Abby gave him a soft smile, "Get comfortable, it'll be a while. Twelve hours at least, I'd guess."

"Fuck," Daryl carped, bringing his palm to his face.

"You've never tried it?" Abby asked him as she rinsed the suds from his hair.

"Nah, didn't do no drugs. That was Merle's thing."

"Merle?"

"My brother," Daryl grunted, frowning at some ghost in his own mind. Abby let the topic drop.

She began to run the washcloth in small circles across his chest, leaving a burning trial in her wake. Daryl shifted restlessly under her caresses, his breaths becoming shallow and rapid as she touched him. Despite his best efforts to control himself, he could feel all the blood in his body slowly travelling south.

The small circles continued further down his chest, crossing his stomach then finally reaching his hipbones. He watched her hands intently, in awe of the way she was caressing him. Then to his surprise, she dropped the washcloth back into the bucket of water and traced along his hipbones with the tips of her fingers. He jolted, a breathy groan escaping his lips, to his great embarrassment.

Her fingers continued down the tops of his thighs, finally reaching the jagged cut that had instigated this whole mess. "I'll take care of that last," she murmured to herself, then picked up the washcloth and began to clean his legs, starting at his feet. He jerked away from her touch when she ran the cloth over the pads of his feet.

She gave him a confused glance. "Ticklish," he muttered, cheeks perpetually red, and she smiled. Daryl found himself entranced with the way her lips stretched over her teeth, displaying her bright, white, loving grin. He couldn't stop watching her mouth, wondering how the red, pouty lips that outlined it would feel against his own lips, or on his chest, or elsewhere...

Daryl was undeniably hard now, and he knew Abby knew it. She was staring determinedly at the muscles in his strong thighs as she kneaded them with soap, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth told him she was just trying to preserve his modesty. But _fuck_, the way her hands were working his sore muscles felt so damn good, he couldn't be bothered to care.

Her fingernails raked the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, and he throbbed ludicrously in response, gasping for air. Abby had been feigning ignorance so far, but no one could pretend to have failed to notice that large of a reaction. Daryl knew he should still be feeling embarrassment, but every nerve in his body had shifted towards longing and desire. He'd lost everything, everyone- every last person he'd ever cared about was gone or dead or both. And all he wanted, so desperately now, was some kind of human contact. Abby was scratching that itch, with expert poise, and he was putty in the palm of her hand, breath bated for her next move.

When she reached for the cloth that covered his groin, his eyes shot open wide. "S-stop," he gasped, because he had to. He _had_ to try once, at least once, to stop this before it went any further. Before they could no longer ignore the massive pole still growing in his lap, or his labored breathing, or his racing heart. Daryl had never felt attraction like this, so potent. The arousal dizzied him and left him trembling. He wanted her, and he couldn't deny it to himself. Not if she didn't stop him.

She ignored his plea and removed the towel, revealing his throbbing manhood for all to see. He watched her eyes warily, prepared for rejection, or disgust. He wasn't a virgin, but a slew of drunk fucks didn't exactly constitute a whole lot of familiarity. But then again, the hazy stimulation from the drugs in his system felt oddly familiar, making the whole experience all the more comforting. Abby's fingers were tracing small figure eights at his hipbones, descending slowly. "Abby, if ya don't stop..." he tried once more, for good measure.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Do you want me to?" Her voice was sultry and thick, leaving him breathless. He bobbed his head slowly, up and down. And when she wrapped her warm fingers around his length, his hips bucked off the couch entirely, a whine emerging from deep in his chest. She stroked him firmly, with long, deliberate strokes. He was already leaking considerably, and she used the moistness pooling at his head to slick the way, smiling softly at him when he cursed and groaned. Daryl was finding it difficult to stay still as she worked him over, squirming, hips stuttering, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Fuuuck," he groaned loudly, when she rubbed his head with the palm of her hand. Her free digits made easy work of rolling and fondling his tightening balls. If his skin was burning, then his cock was alight, her hand stoking the flames. Daryl found it in him to meet her eyes, and found her watching him intently, biting her lip. She _wanted_ him. His lips parted into a shallow pant, unable to look away from her. So fucking pretty.

"Abby..." he moaned in warning, when he felt the familiar tingling at the base of his spine. But this wasn't his usual road to climax. This was far too powerful. Pleasure radiated from every corner of his body. He was shivering with the force of it, almost frightened of the intensity.

His balls drew up, his body tensed, and suddenly he was shooting onto her hand and his chest. Lightning bolts of pleasure burst through him and he trembled as they overcame his vision, everything going white. He heard loud, unashamed moans from somewhere in the room, and realized a moment later they were coming from him. And through it all, he never stopped watching her. Those misty, perfect eyes.

After what felt like minutes of agony, and bliss, Daryl slumped back against the couch, trying desperately to catch his breath.


	2. Part 2

**Part Two**

Abby's nimble fingers quickly wiped his seed from his body, and hers, then got to work examining his wound. Daryl's cock pulsed with his thundering heartbeat as he watched her work. But he'd been sated, at least for the moment. It worried him, to some degree- the desire still coursing through him. He'd never been known to do a back-to-back performance. But then again, he'd taken two doses of E.

Abby didn't bother asking Daryl's permission before swiftly cleaning out his wound with soap and water, then covering it in antibiotic ointment. She brought her eyes to his when she got out the needle and thread, and finding him watching her peacefully, she set about closing the gash. She sewed the reddened flesh of his thigh back together, trying her best not to hurt him much in the process. Though if he felt any pain, he didn't indicate it. He simply lay there, with a slight smile on his face, watching.

When she finished, she sat back on her heels and glanced at his discarded clothing. "Do you want your boxers back?" she asked carefully.

"No point now." Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and a hand shot out to grasp the girl by her thin wrist. "Why ya helpin' me?" he demanded. His tone was soft, but his grip hard.

Abby shrugged. "If I was hurt, sick...I'd hope someone would help me. I have to believe there are still people alive who would."

And though he seemed unconvinced, his expression softened. He didn't drop her hand though. He didn't want to lose the contact. "Do ya want me to leave?" he asked her.

She frowned at him, "Of course not."

He rubbed his thumb in circles absentmindedly over the inside of her wrist. "Ya here alone?" When a smile played on her lips, he backtracked. "Don't mean I want ya to be, or nothin'. Just curious."

She laughed airily, "It's okay. And yes, I'm here alone. I was with a bigger group, up until about a week ago. But a herd separated us. We'd never set up someplace to meet...stupid, really. But I couldn't find them. So I holed up here. What about you?"

He gave her an unreadable look, "Well, there weren't no one with me when I passed out in the street, was there?"

"No, but you could have just been out on a run."

He sighed, still running his fingers over her wrist. "It's a long story," he mumbled. The grief on his face wasn't lost on her, and she leaned towards him to run a hand across his jaw.

"It's okay," she murmured, "Doesn't have to be now." She studied the dark bags under his eyes. "When's the last time you slept?"

He shrugged, "It's been a while."

"Alright, let's get you to bed, then. It's late anyways." She offered him her hands and he looked up at her in confusion.

"I ain't sleepin' here?"

"No, you're coming with me. There's a big bed in back- more than big enough for the both of us. And considering that you passed out a few hours ago, seems likely you might need my help if you want to get up during the night," Abby explained, trying to justify away her neediness. But _fuck it_, she thought, _might as well be honest_. "Anyways, I'd feel better if you were close. It's okay if you're not comfortable with it though, you can stay here."

"Nah," he said softly, starting to sit up, "I wanna go with you."

She hoisted him up onto his feet, and slipped under his right arm, leading him through the kitchen and into the back of the house. Through several minutes of unsure footing, she managed to get him to the largest bedroom. A plush, king-sized bed with bright white sheets stood in the center of the room, with a pinkish chaise lounge along the bay window, and a large oak desk and dresser opposite it. Abby brought Daryl to the bed and gently let him down.

"Thank you," he mumbled into her hair, as she let him go. He was still naked, still hard, still watching her fixedly. A corner of his mind twanged with the embarrassment of needing a girl's help just to get into bed. _Pussy_, Merle would have called him. But he was utterly absorbed with Abby's eyes.

He watched her tread lightly to the other side of the bed and begin to undress. It was dark, dark enough that he could only see the outline of her curvy figure. But he didn't try to avert his gaze. She'd seen him, after all. Just about all of him. Getting a glance at her was only fair.

Abby peeled off her jeans, boots, and socks, but left her tank top on. The black spandex didn't leave a lot to the imagination, but Daryl wanted it gone all the same. He couldn't help it. The animal part of his brain wanted them skin-to-skin. Worry crept into his fantasies, though. What if she didn't want him back? What if this was all out of pity? What if she left him?

When she got under the covers he followed her lead, waiting to see if she'd go straight to sleep. They lay in bed facing one another, and for several minutes, they did just that. He watched her, content with the closeness. Enormously grateful to be with someone, anyone at all, after everything he'd been through. If this was all he got from her, it would be good enough.

"Got half a mind that I'll wake up and this'll all have been some dream, I'll be out on that pavement with walkers gnawin' on my leg," he finally admitted, "Or in the mornin' you'll be gone, took off in the middle of the night."

"That _won't_ happen," Abby assured him, placing her hand over his.

"Hope not," he said honestly, "But if this turns out to be a hallucination or some shit...should make the best of it." And with that, he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were cautious and unassuming, somehow communicating gratitude more than any kind of want. But when her soft lips parted invitingly, and her tongue darted out to massage his, he couldn't curb his desire any longer.

Daryl wrapped his arms around Abby's waist and pulled her flush against him, his erection trapped between the two of them. He ran one hand up and down her spine, the other becoming laced into her wavy hair. Abby nipped at his lower lip playfully, before his mouth moved down to her neck, suckling and tracing until he met her pulse point. Her breathy sighs had him throbbing insatiably, grinding himself into her without realizing.

Euphoria was flooding his system, disallowing any coherent thought. All he knew was what he felt: _Want her, need her, don't let go_. Daryl had never allowed himself to crave affection, or any sort of love. His father had beaten any desire for those things out of him. But with nothing left to lose, Daryl found himself wanting things he'd never been allowed to want. Not just sex, but warmth, care.

Abruptly, Daryl broke away, taking her face in his hands in a fleeting moment of clarity. "Ya gotta tell me ya want this," he whispered urgently, "Ain't gonna be able to stop if ya don't make me."

"I want you," she replied simply, placing a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips.

'Thank fucking god,' he thought to himself, picking up where he'd left off. He pulled her tank top over her head, and was more than pleased to find her braless. Daryl propped himself on his elbow above her, stroking up and down her torso tenderly, and tracing small circles over her hardening nipples.

"You're fuckin' perfect," he mumbled, leaning down to press feather-light kisses against her rosy peaks. "So fuckin' soft."

Abby giggled at his soft admission, "I think you're just saying that because you're high."

Daryl stopped his movements and looked up at her, "No. Ain't like that…never wanted someone this bad before." The vulnerability in his voice sold his meaning, and Abby found herself wanting to repay him for his openness.

There was something about this rough, attractive redneck that drew her in, like a mosquito towards a flame. She could tell he wasn't the sort of man who normally opened up like this, and certainly never allowed himself to be weak. It might have been the drugs, she thought, or whatever tragic events had left him alone and injured on the side of the road. But the fact that he'd let her see that side of him made Abby want him just as badly as he insisted he wanted her. The longing in Daryl's eyes had her as wet as the soft licks of his tongue along her sternum.

Abby ran her hands up his back, intending to draw him closer, and he froze. "_Don't_," he growled out, before he could stop himself. But it was too late, he'd fucked it all up, and she was pulling away from him.

Anger flared up in him, outweighing the peaceful haze. He felt so fucking stupid for thinking he could have something like this. He wasn't some regular guy, he didn't deserve moments like this. Dixon's don't get to have nice things.

Abby watched as Daryl's eyes darkened, his expression becoming bleak and sorrowful. She reached out to cup his cheek, and he instinctually flinched back. Regretting it immediately, he took her hand and forcefully pressed it to the side of his face, wanting to regain the contact. "Sorry," he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

The drugs were wearing off, alright. Figures that it'd take more than a couple pills to keep a Dixon's feral side at bay. "It's alright," she whispered with sincerity, and he finally met her gaze. She stroked her fingers through his hair, "We don't have to do this now."

"Want to," he immediately replied, but it felt forced. He seemed panicked again, fearful- though Abby wasn't quite sure of what.

"I do too," she assured him, "But we've got time. I'm not going anywhere." Daryl's eyes bore into her, searching for the lie. But there was no indication she was being anything but sincere.

He sighed, and palmed the hand that was caressing his face. "Ain't gonna be able to sleep," he finally mumbled.

"You're overtired," she observed, "You just need to slow down your breathing, let your mind go blank. You've got to relax."

"Easier said than done," Daryl muttered, his voice still strained. Abby tried to discern the cause of his dip in mood. Did he feel rejected? Was he in pain? Did he just want her _that_ badly?

"Would my touching you make it better or worse?" she asked carefully.

His brow furrowed in confusion, "Uh...depends, I guess."

"Alright then," she continued cheerfully, "Flip over. I'll give you a massage."

"_No_," Daryl barked offensively, surprising them both. His knee-jerk reaction upset him as much as it did her. He couldn't do that. Not _that_. Not even with her. Maybe she wouldn't be able to see his scars in the dark, but she'd feel them. And he couldn't allow that; he didn't want to watch her expression distort from affection to pity. "I...can't. M'sorry," he whispered brokenly.

Slowly, Abby reached towards him and threaded her fingers into her hair, stroking gently. He watched her warily as she moved towards him, but once he realized she wasn't going to go for his back, he slumped back into the bed. His locks were nearly dry now, and the movement of Abby's warm fingers quickly lulled him. "It's okay, " she murmured, "You're safe here; just sleep."

She watched as his eyes unwillingly fluttered shut, and his breathing became slow and even. After several minutes, she began to retract her hand, intending to go to sleep herself. But Daryl's hand shot out and pinned her against him. The message was clear enough: _don't stop._ Daryl's eyes opened in slits and he slowly, carefully, pulled Abby towards him. He cradled her against his chest, as if she were as breakable as porcelain, and pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

He wanted her close, too. Something in his demeanor still betrayed his fear, though well hidden. Abby pressed her lips into his chest. "It's alright," she murmured, "You're alright. Just go to sleep." And in short time, the redneck dutifully obeyed.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3 **

The first thing Abby noticed when she woke up was the warmth. Daryl ran hot, like a furnace, heat radiating off of him in thick waves. He wasn't just wrapped around her, but moreover, pinning her down underneath him. As if he had worried, in his dreamy state, that she might escape him.

Abby shifted in slight increments until Daryl lay half on top of her, rather than fully. And when she finally opened her eyes, taking the man in, she realized he was not sleeping peacefully. His face was contorted into a look of anguish, and he twitched restlessly, as if he were running from something. He whimpered softly and his brows furrowed, ducking his head down into her shoulder as if protecting himself from a blow.

Whatever he was dreaming about, it was getting worse. Daryl hissed in pain, and whimpered again. He was mumbling into her skin, and at first Abby couldn't discern what. But then it became clearer. He was pleading. "No, no, no, no..."

Abby couldn't watch anyone suffer like this, much less _him._ She ran one hand in circles over his back, and the other stroked his cheek. "Daryl, wake up," she softly cooed, trying to bring him out of this, "You're okay, wake up now."

Daryl awoke like a truck plowing into a brick wall. In a millisecond, he was posed above her, pinning both her hands above her head and glancing around wildly. His eyes were bleary and savage; he didn't seem to know where he was. "Daryl?" Abby choked out hoarsely. His grip was painful and fierce; she felt as if her wrists might snap.

Finally, his eyes focused on Abby's face, and he let out a deep sigh. "You're still here," he breathed gruffly, sounding relieved. She nodded, grimacing through the pain. But he didn't relinquish his grip.

"Daryl, you're hurting me," Abby whispered fearfully, kicking herself for trusting this man so easily. What if this was the real him? What if he wanted to hurt her?

At her words, he pushed himself off of her as if he'd been scalded. Abby sat up and rubbed at her wrists, watching him shift towards the outside corner of the bed, eyes bouncing back and forth from his hands to her face. He looked horrified, frozen.

Abby knew her wrists would bruise, but seeing the soulful awareness return to Daryl's eyes put her at ease. She moved towards him, placing a hand on his knee. "I'm fine," she told him firmly.

He shook his head bleakly. "I hurt you," Daryl whispered in a disbelieving voice. He'd never hurt a girl, _never_. But he'd never shared a bed with a woman either. He should have known he couldn't, should have been more careful. And now there she was with wrists already turning purple and it was his fault.

Daryl's continued silence and tortured stare was getting worrying. "Daryl, I'm _fine_," Abby repeated. She touched his face for emphasis, and gave a small smile.

"Didn't mean to," he said finally, "Thought I was...somewhere else. Sorry."

She nodded and leaned into him, kissing his cheek. "It's okay."

Daryl seemed taken aback by the gesture, but certainly didn't reject it. By all accounts, this girl should have been running from him by now. But instead they were both largely naked, and in bed together. Confusion didn't begin to cover the depth of his bewilderment.

"You're not mad?" he asked her.

"About this? Of course not. It was easy enough to see you were still asleep. It was an accident," Abby asserted.

"Not just that, last night..." Daryl trailed off as the last 24 hour's events came pouring into his consciousness. For fuck's sake, she'd been trying to help him and he'd just lain there with a hard-on like some horny teenager. She'd probably thought he was pathetic, getting so worked up over a stupid sponge bath. Then he tries to fuck her and can't even manage to get close without freaking out. What had he done right?

"You didn't do anything wrong, Daryl," Abby insisted, "Last night, I didn't do anything I didn't want to do. And the only reason we didn't go further is because you didn't seem as sure as I was. There's nothing for me to be mad about."

Abby watched Daryl's face for a moment. He didn't believe her; that much was clear. But it appeared as if nothing she could say would convince him. She hopped out of bed and pulled her discarded tank top onto her body. "Wait here," she instructed. Getting no response, she quickly left the room.

A few minutes later, Abby returned to find Daryl in the exact same position, though only looking minutely tortured, now. She had on a pair of black jeans and knee-high boots, and a thick tan sweater. In one arm she held his treasured angel-wing vest, boxers, socks, as well as a plaid shirt and pair of jeans he didn't recognize. "Here," she said, handing him the pile of clothing, "Your jeans are a lost cause. And that sleeveless shirt you had on can't be warm enough for this weather. Whoever used to live here was about your size."

He pawed through his new items, and immediately pulled the shirt out and threw it over his shoulders, buttoning it with expert speed. And that's when Abby started to understand.

Most men would put on the boxers first. They'd feel awkward about the openness, especially someone as unfamiliar with intimacy as Daryl clearly was. But Daryl didn't; he went for the shirt instead. Because there was something about his torso, his back specifically, that he felt he needed to hide. Sure, she'd noticed the handful of faded scars across his chest, but she hadn't put too much thought into them. Everyone had scars. But maybe for Daryl, the scars weren't entirely healed.

She didn't bother to give him any privacy as he pulled on his boxers, then his jeans, wincing when the denim came into contact with his cut. When Daryl threw on his vest as well, he instantly radiated less anxiety. He was a knight with his suit of armor firmly in place.

"Does it hurt much? I've got some painkillers," Abby offered. But Daryl immediately shook his head.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Would rather keep my head clear," Daryl said. In truth, he needed the pain. Something physical to counteract the emotional turmoil he was trying so desperately to ignore.

Abby took a step towards him, "Ready to try walking around?" He took her offered hands and got unsteadily to his feet.

After a few steps with Abby hovering at his side, Daryl turned and grunted to her, "I'm good." A buried part of him didn't mind the coddling. But with Merle and his father in the back of his mind, ridiculing him for his weakness, he couldn't allow himself to enjoy the comfort.

Daryl strode through the house and went straight for his crossbow and pack. Abby watched him from the doorway, a quizzical expression on her face. Everything was how he'd left it, and he immediately felt like an asshole for thinking she would have stolen from him. So far this girl had done nothing but take care of him, a stranger no less. But the distrusting part of his brain couldn't be shut off.

"You want some breakfast?" Abby asked from behind him.

He rose up off the floor and looked at her uncertainly, "Don't wanna take your food."

Abby rolled her eyes and spun around, walking back into the kitchen. "Come sit, Daryl." Her tone left no room for argument. He sat down at the mahogany dining table, and watched her pluck two jars of peach halves and two granola bars from the pantry. She placed his share in front of him, and sat at his side. Daryl stared at the food, making no move to actually eat it.

She sighed in exasperation, "Daryl, if you don't eat, your body won't have the fuel it needs to fight off the infection in your leg. And you'll die. So quit being an ass about it."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he begrudgingly opened the can and began to eat the fruit. As soon as the sugary syrup hit his lips he realized how hungry he actually was, and managed to down everything in front of him in a few minutes flat. He sat awkwardly at the table, trying to think of something to say. But no amount of small talk could excuse the way he'd acted last night. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing in the daylight, like fog rolling in at dawn.

"So, I guess I'll be moving on today," he said suddenly as Abby continued to eat. She dropped her fork and stared at him as if he'd sprung an extra head.

"And what makes you say that?" she asked with an edge to her voice.

He shrugged, "Don't need to be taking any more of your food, medical supplies. You don't owe me anything."

Abby's mouth was hanging open and eyebrows knitted together. "Daryl," she finally said, "Do you _want _to leave?"

He gave her an impenetrable look. In truth, he hadn't put much thought into how he felt about the matter. He knew he liked being near her, liked _her_. He sure as hell didn't want to be alone again. But what kind of a girl would willingly take on a mess like him? She was too nice; that was the problem. She was too nice to tell him to leave, that she didn't really want him here. But if that were the case, why was she staring at him right now like he was the stupidest man alive?

"Not really," he admitted at last. The words came out strained, as if forced through a sieve. He recoiled inwardly, predicting the rejection.

"Good, then quit going on about it. You're staying. I _want _you to stay," Abby said casually, shaking her head in good humor. This man sure had issues saying what he meant. Daryl relaxed into his chair, clearly relieved.

Abby got up from the table and went about her routine. She cleaned dishes and took stock of her supplies, and Daryl hovered behind her. When she washed her clothing, with a few of Daryl's things mixed in, he sat on the counter and watched.

Quite simply, he wouldn't let Abby out of his sight. Part of him felt that if he couldn't see her, even for a second, she might cease to exist. He followed her back and forth across the house all day, occasionally busying himself with cleaning his crossbow, but largely just watching her. He began to enjoy the way she'd softly hum to herself as she worked. And a few times, he permitted himself to stare a little too long and a little too hard at her rippling muscles as she stretched. The breathy moan she'd let out as she reached her arms up above her head made him buzz with want, but he beat the feeling down and buried it. Last night was a fluke. She didn't want him back.


	4. Part 4

_**Thanks for the love, y'all. And especially the reviews! They inspire me to keep writing x**_

**Part Four**

After dinner Abby lay on the loveseat paging through a faded copy of _The Outsiders_, with Daryl still attached to her side. He was seated inches from her, though as far away as the small couch would allow, fiddling with some arrows. And Abby hardly minded. Finding this man on the side of the road was probably the best thing that had happened to her since she'd lost her group. No one could make it alone these days.

Daryl's eyes bounced back and forth between his task and her face, and though Abby pretended not to notice, inwardly she smiled. The man was restless. He rarely spent whole days indoors and just about never spent this long sitting around. He knew he needed some time to heal, but this was excessive. He was going stir crazy. And if he hadn't had Abby to focus his attention on, he might have lost it. But the truth was: he wanted to be wherever she was. The thought of being away from her made his chest ache. So if she was spending the day inside, he would too.

"Still worried I'm going to disappear?" she suddenly asked him, putting down her book.

Daryl searched her face for something, having a hard time discerning if this was a tease or a threat. "Kinda," he finally admitted. The woman seemed to read his mind.

"Don't be. I'm not going anywhere," Abby asserted softly. "Can I ask you something?"

He looked at her expectantly.

"What were you dreaming about, last night?" Abby finished.

He winced, and looked away from her. "Walkers," he mumbled, staring at the ground. But his inability to look her in the eye was his tell.

Abby sighed. "You don't have to lie, Daryl. If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

She let the words hang there, and he watched her face. For several minutes, Daryl seemed to battle with himself over what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Unconsciously, he shifted closer to her, one hand moving to her calf, turning to face her fully. He needed the contact. What he really wanted was for her to stroke his hair like she had last night, but he'd never ask. The silence was cutting into him. He was going to hate himself for this.

"My dad," he finally let out, "that's what I was dreaming about."

Abby tilted her head slowly, in confusion. "You seemed…scared. In pain."

He nodded, "Wasn't a dream, really. More like a memory."

"A memory of what?" Abby asked before she could stop the words from escaping her. But she should have kept her damn mouth shut. Daryl's fists clenched and face contorted into something like anguish. "You don't have to tell me," Abby quickly said, hating the way his face changed as pain washed over him.

"Don't remember what I did that made him do it. But, he tied to me a tree in the back of our house. Had at me with his belt, on and off for more than a day," Daryl said softly. "He was a mean drunk."

Daryl was already regretting the admission. She pitied him now, he could see it well enough. The look on her face like he was some kicked puppy she should feel sorry for. As if he hadn't been enough of a mess passing out high in front of her house.

But Abby's continued silence had little to do with pity. Empathy was more appropriate. Daryl wasn't the type of man who would abide coddling. She knew '_I'm sorry_' just wouldn't cut it. So she took another tactic.

"Bet that left some pretty nasty scars," she said at long last, and he looked up in surprise. Of all the things he expected to come out of her mouth- _Disgusting. Leave. Pathetic. Weak _- that was not one of them.

"It did," he confirmed. Abby moved towards him, kneeling on the couch. She pulled her sweater up over her head and discarded it to the floor. _Great, some pity fuck_, Daryl was already thinking, cringing at the thought. But Abby wasn't moving to kiss him. Instead, she was taking one of his large hands in hers, and leading him towards her. She pulled his hand behind her, and pushed it into her lower back.

And that's when he felt it: the raised skin. He traced the scar from her left hip up to her right shoulder, then back down again to the space just under her right hipbone. It was a long, winding, deliberate line. From a blade- it had to be. In the dark last night, he hadn't been able to see it. He hadn't noticed it through her tank top, or when she'd been lying on her back. But now it seemed so obvious that he could kick himself.

"What happened?" he asked gruffly, still running his hand up and down the scar on her back.

"I got…" she paused, searching for the right word, "taken."

Anger flashed white hot across Daryl's face, and he instinctively moved closer to her. "They hurt you?" he ground out. _They did. Of course they fucking did. A girl as pretty as her?_

But Abby shook her head feebly, afraid to meet Daryl's eyes, "Not much. Not for long, at least. I got away."

His hand was on her face, trailing up and down her jaw and into her hair, confirming that she was there, in front of him, safe. "How'd ya do it?"

Abby pressed her cheek into his hand, craving the contact as much as he did. "There were two guys," she began softly, "They were waiting for the third, before…they said it had to be all three of them. Some sort of bonding thing. But he was out hunting, wouldn't be back until morning. I got through the ropes overnight." Her eyes darted up to Daryl's cool blue pools, deciding if she should continue. Though anger still lingered, there was no judgment there. "Killed them," she finally admitted, in a barely-there whisper.

"Good," he growled, "Wish they were alive so I could kill 'em again. Make it slow." The possessiveness that had flared up in him was startling, an animalistic voice that shouted from the back of his mind that she was _his_. Maybe it was the fear of losing her that made him hold on all the more tightly. Or perhaps that, and something else. An affection for her that he didn't know how to handle.

Abby shifted and brushed his wound, making him flinch. She frowned, and carefully unwound herself from his body. "Come on," she murmured, "let's go to bed."

"It's been bothering you all day. Your cut," Abby observed, having led him back to the master bedroom.

"I'm fine," he insisted, the words of a man who'd been conditioned to ignore his pain, or conceal it.

She placed a hand on her hip, "If you're not going to take any painkillers, then at least let me help a different way." He cocked an eyebrow at her, puzzled. "Massage increases blood flow, helps you heal faster. Should help with the pain, too."

"You wanna…massage…my leg?" he asked slowly, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Yes. Now, jeans off," she instructed. And at that he frowned deeply.

"No way, they're staying on."

She rolled her eyes. "Nope. Off." Christ, this girl was bossy. He begrudgingly consented, and stripped off his jeans and vest.

"Face down," she said curtly, but her tone betrayed her amusement at the situation. It was getting fun, really, watching this hunk of a man get so embarrassed about showing a little skin. He did as she requested, and Abby quickly straddled his calves, kneading at the muscles of his thighs.

Her hands were magic. Daryl had thought her touch had only felt so good because of the E, but it was clear enough he was wrong. Her fingers worked him expertly, applying the perfect amount of pressure. She didn't delve above his waistband, and for that he was grateful. Instead she smoothed her hands up and down his legs, sometimes brushing the soft hairs so gently that he jerked and sighed.

Daryl had convinced himself that his reaction to her the night before had been the result of the drugs. But the tightening coil hidden underneath him was quickly proving that theory wrong. He cursed inwardly and blushed when Abby began to work his glutes. It had never occurred to him that having a woman touch him there could feel so good. And when her fingers moved towards the inside of his thighs, and _accidentally_ brushed his tightening balls, his cock twitched in response.

He rutted against the bed instinctually as she massaged him, desperate for the friction. His hips moved slowly, and without his consent. Every so often he'd realize he was trying to fuck his way into the sheets like a teenager, and tense up once more, cursing under his breath. He was leaking now, had to be. Had she even noticed?

"Turn over," Abby suddenly ordered, and Daryl tightened up as stiffly as his throbbing length.

"M'fine like this," he mumbled into the pillow, clenching his eyes shut.

"Well, the cut's on the front of your thigh, so you're going to have to," Abby said pointedly.

"No," Daryl grunted, and Abby frowned down on him. But then, like a bucket of cold water, realization hit her.

"Daryl, it's_ fine_. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about…clearly," she blushed at the memory of how large he'd been in her hand, throbbing and pulsing as she stroked him. "It's a complement, really. Means I'm doing a good job."

He looked back at her over his shoulder skeptically. "Abby, c'mon."

"Don't be an ass, flip over."

"No!" he growled.

She glared at him, "Fine, then take some fucking painkillers."

"Don't need them," he said roughly, glaring right back. She continued to stare daggers into the side of his face, and the intensity of her gaze had him choking back a smile. She was cute when she was angry.

"Y'ain't gonna let this drop, are you?" he mumbled.

"Nope!" she retorted enthusiastically. Daryl sighed, and gave in. He flipped onto his back, watching her face as she unabashedly checked out his package. But after a moment of self-indulgence, Abby got right back to business, pushing and pulling at the muscles of his thighs until he'd been lulled right back into his hazy state of arousal, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn't be sure how long her hands worked him before he felt her fingertips graze his erection.

Daryl's eyes shot open. "Abby…" he warned, confused by her sultry smile. She was heady with the power she had over this man. It thrilled her- the way he fought halfheartedly against her advances, weary of feeling anything _good_, then gave in. Always gave in, because he wanted her just as badly as she did him.

She stroked one hand up and down his chest, lightly tweaking his nipples through his shirt, making him suck in a deep breath. "Why…why are ya…?" he whispered, because he _didn't_ understand. He didn't see that she wanted him back, and couldn't fathom why she'd be touching him like this. Last night had been pity, it always was.

"Because you deserve to feel something other than pain. And I do too," Abby told him softly. Daryl reached out and ran his thumb across her lips, watching her steadily. Then some switch flipped in his mind, and in a flash his lips melded with hers as he pushed her back into the bed. It was a sloppy kiss, teeth clanking together and tongues probing frantically, but it had sincerity. Daryl wanted her, and this was how he'd show her.

"This what you wanted?" he whispered hotly in her ear, and she shuddered in his arms. He smirked, though he hadn't intended for it to come out as dirty talk. He genuinely wanted to make sure she was okay with this, a willing participant. How the hell else was he supposed to figure it out?

"Yes," she moaned, when he sucked on the spot where her neck met her shoulder, "God, yes." He watched her face for hesitation as he helped her slink out of her jeans, then her top as well, and gazed in awe at her body. Everything about her was soft, and warm. He ran his fingertips up and down her small frame, as he had the night before, as if he were afraid to touch her.

"Ya sure?" he asked quietly, his fingers just barely grazing her taut nipples.

"Daryl, please just fucking _touch_ me," Abby pleaded, in a tone so desperate it made Daryl's cock throb.

"Show me what you like," he whispered huskily. But the way his voice cracked and the uncertainty in his eyes betrayed his meaning. _Show me how_. She shadowed his hand until he made contact with her hot core.

"Jesus, you're wet," he whispered. Was that for _him_? It must be; but that in itself seemed ridiculous. Girls never wanted him like this. Abby pressed two of his thick, rough fingers against her clit, showing him how to rub small circles around her. Every so often, he would trail up her slit, gathering wetness to continue. She let him carry on without her coaching. Unprompted, he plunged two fingers into her pulsing core and she moaned loudly. He used his thumb to continue rubbing her clit, watching her fixedly as she wriggled and groaned softly under his caresses.

Daryl was painfully hard now, watching Abby's chest heave up and down at his doing. And when she came, and she came _hard_, it was as if he'd discovered something wonderful. When she breathed out his name desperately, his face lit up with pride, and he refused to stop touching her, not until she begged him to.

Just as his hand left her body, hers shot out and wrapped itself firmly around his length. He bucked involuntarily, fisting the sheets. "Shit, Abby…" he broke off with a groan when she swiped her thumb over his moist head, "Ya don't have to do that."

She pumped her hand up and down twice more before dipping her head down to press light kisses across his collarbone. "Abby, you don't…don't have to…" he tried again, panting hard. He had gotten her off, they were _even_ now. There was no reason for her to still be touching him. But she wasn't stopping, and Daryl was rapidly losing the will to care.

Abby pushed against Daryl's chest, and he rolled onto his back complacently, watching her hand move over him. She began to kiss down his chest, tongue flicking back and forth against his tight abs, and tracing the hipbones with which she'd been so captivated the night before. Her mouth kept moving lower, and lower, and suddenly Daryl was panicking again.

He pawed at her shoulders, forcing her to stop, and she looked up at him with confusion on her face. The problem was, he had no idea how to explain what was running through his head. He'd only had a handful of blow jobs in his life, and they were always a predecessor to some drunk, frenzied fucking. Daryl knew girls didn't bother with head unless they were getting something in return, and she'd already _gotten_ hers. So the fact that she was still touching him left his stomach unsettled. Was he some charity case for her?

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, never relinquishing her grip on him.

He could only stare into her silvery eyes, begging her to understand. "I _want_ this, Daryl," she finally said, stroking him again with a torturously loose grip. "I want to make you feel good. Please let me?" His body was still taut, fighting against the sensations running through him.

"You can trust me," she whispered, searching his eyes for permission. And he couldn't deny her, not with the pads of her fingers caressing him so delicately that he thought he might die. So when he nodded slightly, and reached out to touch her cheek, Abby cheered inwardly.

She slid her mouth down his entire length, tongue pressing at the underside, humming in contentment when she heard him moan her name. The head of his cock just barely nudged the back of her throat, and he must have liked that, because a whine escaped him that made her pulse with renewed desire. He was trying desperately to shut out his brain, ignore the incessant worries about what he looked like, and sounded like, and _why_ she was doing this for him.

But when Abby began to bob her head slowly, hot and wet around his cock, Daryl's mind went blank aside from a single word. "_Abby_," he groaned, as she cupped his balls in one hand, never ceasing her up and down movements. He'd kept his eyes clenched tightly shut this whole time, afraid that if he watched what she was doing to him, he'd lose his last shred of self-control. But desperate curiosity got the better of him, and his eyes opened in slits, locking onto Abby's like a tracking beam. "_Abby."_

He couldn't look away. Watching his slick member slide in and out of her mouth was hot, but the look in her eyes was a kind of sexy he'd never experienced before. There was more than lust hidden behind her foggy orbs. He saw indisputable warmth, and a desire to be there, doing this for him. It left his body tingling as he neared release. "_Abby,_" he whispered again.

Her eyes fluttered shut when she quickened her pace, but Daryl couldn't tolerate that. He reached out to cup her cheek, rubbing tenderly at her temples until she met his eyes once more. And that was all it took. Daryl went over the edge without warning, shoulders and head coming up off the bed, body tensing and shaking, pouring into her as he called out her name. After several moments, he collapsed backwards, breathing out, "_Shit_, Abby."

She climbed back up the bed to lie at his side, playing with his shirt collar as he recovered.

"You alright?" she asked him gently. He'd barely caught his breath.

"Y-yeah. Yeah. I'm good," he said quietly, blinking rapidly. But each time he opened his eyes, she was still there, and he still felt good. Better than he had in years. It was real.

"Just good?" Abby teased. "The look on your face right now doesn't say 'just good' to me."

Daryl blushed lightly and pushed his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. He was yet to reach out to her, to touch her in any way post-orgasm, and Abby was starting to let her self-consciousness get the best of her.

"Do you want some space?" she asked tentatively, and Daryl immediately frowned.

"No," he scoffed with an air of offense, or perhaps uncertainty. "Why would I?"

But he realized immediately that if Abby thought he wanted her gone, then he must be _acting_ like it. He certainly hadn't said anything to indicate either way, one of the benefits of keeping his mouth shut most of the time. But one thing was clear in his mind: he didn't just want her here, he _needed_ it. So with more confidence than the night before, he pulled her onto his chest, entangling his fingers with her hair. Though his sleep was rarely peaceful, with Abby's warm body embracing him, it didn't take him long to succumb.


	5. Part 5

_**Thanks to those of you who keep sending me reviews and lots of love. Keep it up!**_

**Part Five**

_It was an abnormally cool morning, and Daryl was surprised he didn't spot Rick and Carl working away on their garden when he walked through the prison gates. The large span of grass surrounding the prison was empty, aside from some wandering birds. The courtyard too, was vacant. No awkward hello's from Patrick. No teasing from Carol. Just quiet. Daryl shook his head, anxiety welling up in him, and bee-lined straight for Cell Block C, the place he affectionately called his home. And he'd never had that before, a home._

_But when he pushed open the thick steel doors, the inside of the prison was equally desolate. Dark. Silent._

_"__Rick?!" he called out, "Carol?" Fear was beginning to course through him. It traveled in icy currents through his veins, prompting his heart to thud wildly against his chest. He was sprinting through the cell block now, shouting desperately. "RICK!"_

_And then he saw it. Sitting on top of the table where they'd so often had their council meetings was Hershel's severed head, hissing and snapping its jaws at the sight of him. And like magic, the prison group materialized around the table. Glenn, Maggie, Michonne…each empty chair suddenly occupied by the family members he so badly missed. And when they rose from their chairs, he thought for a moment it was to greet him. The heartfelt reunion he hadn't let himself fantasize about. But then he saw the blood._

_Rick was the closest. Red currents poured out from his eyes and mouth, as he reached out towards his second in command. Daryl moved for his crossbow but it wasn't on his shoulders. He tried his belt for his hunting knife but the weapon was gone. He wanted to run, wanted to move, but all he could do was back slowly into the wall behind him. "No, no, no…" he mumbled, shaking his head, his whole body trembling. They were closing in on him. Rick was inches away. Daryl saw a flash of rotten teeth and then-_

He woke up with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed and glancing around wildly. The prison dissipated around him, and was replaced with the unfamiliar bedroom he and Abby now shared. But when he looked to his right, the bed was empty. And when he pressed his hand to the sheets in the space she should have been occupying, it came back cold.

"Abby?" he called out quietly, into the darkness. He received only silence in response. His blood was buzzing in his veins, his heart rocketing against his chest cavity as if it might escape him. Panic encompassed him like a long-lost lover, stifling any shred of rationality he had left and leaving him trembling. He couldn't breathe.

"Abby!" Daryl called again, louder this time, getting up out of the bed. Even his voice was shaking. _You're still dreaming. This ain't real just wake up, wake the fuck up, she'll be there._

He walked out into the hallway. Still dark. "Abby!" _She's gone. She left you. And you knew she fucking would too; you're pathetic. It's your fault they're dead. You deserve to be alone_.

He was barreling down the hall now. "ABBY!" he shouted as loudly as he could. And how he got the lungful to muster such a noise, he couldn't be sure. Because every breath he wheezed in was just a little bit shallower. It felt like his body was collapsing in on itself. _She's gone. She never wanted you. She couldn't stand to be around you any longer, the weak bastard you are. Bet she knew it was your fault they died. Bet she smelt in on you the moment she saw you._

Daryl stumbled into the living room, mid shout. "ABBY!" It felt like days since he'd been able to pull in a full breath of air. But the trip through the house had taken only seconds. _She isn't here. You'll never find her. Can't breathe._

But then he saw her, already on her feet and with knife in hand, prepared to fight. She'd hardly had a chance to throw on shoes her and grab a weapon, at the sound of his yelling. She figured it had been a herd, or worse yet, people. The unfriendly kind. But as soon as she saw the terror in eyes, she let her blade fall to the floor.

Daryl came to a grinding halt in front of her, and immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead into her stomach.

"Jesus, Daryl, what happened?" she demanded, a little too harshly. The adrenaline was still pumping through her.

"You…you weren't there…you weren't…" he panted into her skin. Abby took in his sweaty, trembling figure, and his strained breathing. She understood immediately.

Abby sunk down to her knees as well, pressing her forehead into his and stroking his hair. "It's alright," she murmured, "It's alright, I'm here now. I'm not going to leave you, Daryl. You're okay now. You're alright."

And Christ, he nearly wept with relief. He fell back on his ass, propping himself against the couch, and still struggling to breathe. But of course, he pulled Abby with him. She couldn't stop touching him, not now. If she stopped, his lungs might give out entirely.

"Need you to try to slow your breathing down," she murmured from his lap. She took one of his hands and pressed it against her chest. "I'm right here, see? You're alright. Just need you to breathe when I breathe." He nodded jerkily, focusing his attention on his hand against her skin. "That's it," she praised, as his breathing began to slow. "That's good. Just concentrate on me. I'm right here. That's it, Daryl, that's good."

When his panting ebbed away, Abby pulled back from him, just a little, to watch his face. "M'sorry," he muttered, "I don't know what happened, I just…what was that?" he asked incredulously.

"Seemed like a panic attack to me," Abby mused, stroking his hair the way she knew he liked. "So scared you can't think, or breathe. Sometimes can't even move. I've had a few myself. Was that the first time…?" she trailed off.

He shook his head, "Used to get 'em when I was a kid. Didn't know it had a name."

She nodded knowingly. "What do you think brought this one on?"

"Was havin' a dream…then I woke up and you were gone…" his voice cut out, briefly, before he pulled himself back from the edge once again. "Where'd you go?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I came out here. Didn't want to wake you up with my tossing and turning," Abby said softly. And if she could take it back, she would. It had never occurred to her that he might react this way if he found her missing, but god it should have. She'd _known_ he was scared she'd leave. The man had actually told her! And this was a man who didn't say much.

Daryl grasped her by the nape of her neck, staring deep into her eyes. "Ya can't _do_ that," he said seriously, but his voice was pleading.

"I know," she hummed, still caressing his scalp with the pads of her fingers, "I'm sorry, Daryl. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again, alright? I'm not going anywhere."

Daryl sighed raggedly and tried to hide his head in his own shoulder, "S'not your fault. I'm just…" _fucked up._

After several minutes of silence, Abby still petting him gently, she asked him, "Was it the same dream? Your dad again?"

"Not this time," he said so quietly that she could barely hear him. Then after a long pause, "Dreamt about the prison."

She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him, "You were in prison?"

He smiled halfheartedly, albeit briefly. "Not as a prisoner. That's where I was before ya found me. We cleared the place out, made it safe. Had a real life there."

Abby wanted to ask what went wrong, wanted to know about the moment things went bad. But instead, "Tell me about it. Your life there."

And he did. Hurriedly, practically all in one breath, Daryl explained how he'd come to meet the original Atlanta group. He told her about the CDC, then the farm. He told her about losing Merle, then finding him, then losing him again. He told her about the Governor. It was probably the most he'd said in one go since he was a kid. Since the time his dad hit him across the face with his belt buckle for talking too much.

But the moment the words left his body, it was catharsis, like a cold shower on a hot summer's day. It was relief he hadn't experienced before, and it left him weak.

"If you got out, then others did too. You can find them. They're out there somewhere," Abby told him decisively.

"Can't know that," Daryl mumbled.

"You can' t know much these days," Abby agreed, "Not for sure. But you can believe it."

Daryl squinted harder at that. How did she manage to be so fucking positive with the world going to shit all around her? It didn't seem right. People like that didn't make it in this world.

Or maybe, that's why she made it. "Not sure I know how to do that," he said finally. "Just, can't lose anyone else."

"You won't lose me," Abby promised.

They sat in amicable silence for a while, Abby leaning her head on Daryl's strong shoulder. Had she never seen his face, she might not believe the words coming out of his mouth. His tone was soft, sensitive, words saturated with the emotion he struggled to communicate. But the rest of his body was hard. He was muscular and lean, G.I. Joe had he been born and bred in the woods of Georgia. It was his face that gave it away. The soulfulness of his eyes, the way they pierced through, always seeking her. The twitch of the corner of his mouth when he fought a smile, as if smiling was out of character for him. Yes, it was his face that made his words true.

"How come you couldn't sleep?" he murmured eventually, and didn't fail to notice the way Abby stiffened in his arms.

"I don't do that much anymore," she said softly, after a beat.

Daryl gave her a dubious look, "What- sleep? You don't sleep?"

"No, not really," Abby replied vaguely.

"You gonna tell me why?"

"I already told you."

"No, you told me what happened, save any sorta detail. Didn't tell me why you ain't sleepin'," Daryl argued gently. "Nightmares, like me?"

Abby sighed. "Not nightmares. If I do manage to sleep, I sleep like the dead." She gave a weak smirk at the irony. "But I can't fall asleep to begin with. Sometimes I just can't relax, can't make my mind stop racing. Most of the time I just don't feel safe enough, I guess."

Daryl nodded thoughtfully at that. "You've got me, though. I'd keep you safe." And the sincerity with which he said those words made her heart swell to the point of breaking.

Abby pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing him in. Daryl's musk was a mixture of the woods and cigarette smoke. And somehow, home. "I know you would," she mumbled into his skin.

"What is it, then?" he pressed. And when she didn't answer after several moments, "I told you mine." He had her there.

So Abby fisted her hands in his shirt, just for a moment, then told him, "I always see them, when I close my eyes. I try not to. I try to think about something else, anything else. But they're still always there."

"Who?" Daryl asked.

"The boys I killed."

"I thought..."

"I know what you thought. And I didn't want to correct you. But Daryl, what happened to me...it happened a long time ago. Long before the infection spread."

Daryl's fingers went to the back of her neck, drifting softly against her skin as reassuringly as he could manage. "How old were ya?"

"Fourteen. The boys who took me, they were sixteen and seventeen. Brothers." Abby whispered the last word, afraid of how it would sound. "Their daddy was out hunting. But Bobby-Rae, he told me that when they took a girl, they always had to do it together. The three of them. And their daddy would be back in the morning, so we had to wait. But they found ways to pass the time..."

Abruptly, Abby choked back a sob. She'd never cried about this, at least, not after the first night. That first night, with memories fresh in her mind, she'd cried on the back porch of her family home. She stayed up all night doing it, shaking and hugging herself, nails biting into her bare arms, until her sobs came back dry. But that was the last time. It _had_ to be.

Daryl instinctively pressed her further into his chest. "Ya don't gotta tell me," he mumbled. And though he hated that Abby was in pain, he had to admit, this felt good. Two days of her constant warmth and care had been nice, but undeserved. Daryl was a man with true moral grit, and one of the pillars of his code was fairness. Yet since he'd met this woman, all she'd done was give, and all he'd done was take. Now, he could be the strong one. Finally, things felt even. He could give her the support that she'd thrown towards him without a second thought.

But Abby did need to tell him. So rather than shedding a tear, she let the words rip through. "Most of the time, I don't feel it. I can push it down, you know? But at night it's always worse. The fear, sometimes as bad as it was _that_ night. And the guilt."

"Ya got nothing to be guilty about," Daryl immediately offered. And when Abby gave him a skeptical roll of the eyes, "You were protecting yourself. Don't care who those boys were, they were hurtin' you, and they weren't gonna stop. Never gotta feel guilty for saving your own life."

"I know that," Abby sighed. "At least on some level I do. But there's an equal part of me that thinks what I did was wrong. They were kids. So was I, but…isn't killing a kid always wrong?"

"No," Daryl said firmly, and Abby gave him a wry smile.

"Well, maybe you can remind me of that every once in a while."

"Remind yourself," Daryl replied borderline playfully. "Can't be relyin' on anyone these days."

Daryl moved to stand, pulling Abby up with him.

"C'mon, you've gotta try to sleep," Daryl declared, and the power of that simple statement made him feel like himself again. He knew what she needed. He could tell her. Maybe even give it to her. And when Abby gave him a frightened, uncertain look, "I'll be right there, alright? If it ain't workin' you can just keep me up all night, and we'll sleep during the day. Deal?"

The confidence Daryl was suddenly exuding had Abby nodding her head tentatively, and allowing Daryl to lead her back to bed. She wanted to kiss him for this. So much so that she almost pinned him against the wall right where they stood. But it was such a pleasure to see him in what seemed to be his element that she didn't want to risk throwing him off by making a move. And anyways, sex wasn't what she needed right now. Their bedroom romp a few hours before hadn't exactly sated her desire for her newfound partner, but what she needed now was just him. Close. And he was offering exactly that. So Abby let him lead her back to bed, pull her against his chest, and lull her into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	6. Part 6

_**Hey guys, thanks so much for the reviews! Please keep it up, it's nice to have some constructive criticism, and know people are interested in my story :)**_

**Part Six**

For the first time in a long time, Daryl didn't dream. Abby didn't either, but that was less of an accomplishment. When Daryl awoke, it was a slow, easy thing, like wading through warm water. There was no rush to protect himself, fight off some attack from the depths of his mind. Instead, there was only the soft, warm weight of Abby against his chest, grounding him.

Her breathing was deep and slow. She was still sleeping soundly, and Daryl grinned with pride at that. He'd _helped_, in some small way. Abby had finally been able to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, he'd been the cause. He could do this. He could be this for her: solid, dependable. He'd done it before, and he could do it now. He could get himself back.

Daryl knew the exact moment that Abby began to wake. Her hand on his stomach twitched, and she let out a soft moan that in other circumstances might have had him thrumming with desire. But instead the sound contented him. Her voice, the quiet sounds she'd make in his presence, they were all becoming familiar. And like the incessant hum of the woods, he took comfort in his new fluency in Abby's unique tune.

He felt her eyelashes flutter against the sensitive skin of his stomach as she became more aware. "Was that so bad?" he questioned lightheartedly, and felt her grin against him.

"Not bad at all," she agreed, propping her chin on his chest so she could look at him. "No more dreams?"

He shook his head, "Nah, slept like the dead." She laughed at that, and slowly sat up in bed. When she stretched, she felt his eyes on her, and it gave her goose bumps. "So what are we doin' today?"

Abby gave him a devious look in response, and for a moment, he regretted opening his mouth. "Well if my ears didn't deceive me last night, I believe we may have caught a rabbit or two."

Daryl perked up at that.

Abby led Daryl out back and proudly displayed her makeshift collection of traps. With walkers venturing further out from formerly populated areas, animals were being pushed out of their natural environments. A good portion of them, it seemed, had taken up residence in suburban areas rather than the forests, to avoid being eaten. And indeed, they'd caught themselves two rabbits.

"Gotta admit, I'm impressed," Daryl remarked, glancing up at Abby.

"Don't be just yet. I've got no idea how to skin or gut them. Think you might be up to giving me a lesson?"

"I ain't much of a teacher," Daryl mumbled.

Abby frowned at him, "Now that I sincerely doubt." And with some prodding and encouragement, Abby convinced the man to pass along some of his skills. He explained the process first, figuring it'd be easier than waiting until they were elbow-deep in the animals, and flushed at how attentive Abby was when he spoke. Her stormy eyes were fixed on him, taking in every word.

When he'd finished his spiel, Abby got down to business immediately. She was perched on the back steps of the house, doubled over as she tried to skin her rabbit, with Daryl sat on the grass across from her. The backyard had a tall fence around it, and so long as they were quiet, they'd be safe enough out here. Getting the skin off was proving more difficult than Abby had expected. Her entire body twitched and swayed with the effort, and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face and disappeared into her cleavage. Her thin, black tank top clung to her body, dipping down to show the slightest hint of a lacy, lavender bra.

Daryl hated himself for it, but he was already painfully hard. The way she was bent over gave him the perfect view of her body, and he simply couldn't bring himself to look away. He brought his knees up to his chest, trying to disguise his dilemma. But luckily, Abby was paying him no mind. She was busy yanking at the beast in front of her, which in turn had her breasts bouncing relentlessly.

_Fuck, she's got to stop_ quickly became, _Please don't fucking stop._ And when Abby let out a breathy sigh turned moan as she worked, Daryl was done for. _Fucking teenager get a fucking hold of yourself, what the fuck are you doing?_ He stood abruptly and breezed past her around the side of the house, immensely grateful when she didn't immediately come after him. He leaned against the white panels and banged his head back into the wall once, then again.

_Dead puppies. Walkers. Dad's belt. Will Dixon._ And _that _did it. Quicker and more thoroughly than a cold shower, for sure. For once in his life, Daryl found himself grateful for his father being the sick fuck he was. At least now he could sit with Abby without making a fool of himself.

It was a small miracle that when Daryl shuffled back around to the porch, Abby didn't comment on his absence. She'd been too absorbed with her task, it seemed. By mid-afternoon, the animals had been skinned, gutted, and cooked, and Abby was covered in blood. They ate their dinner in companionable silence, watching the sky darken from the kitchen window.

"Alright, how about you clean up dinner and I try to look less like Carrie after the prom?" Abby joked, and Daryl grunted his agreement.

He busied himself with cleaning dishes and preserving some of the leftover food, but half an hour later when Abby was yet to return, he began to get worried. Leaving their food warming on the stove, he strode down the hallway and into the bedroom. He could hear her now, quietly humming to herself, and it took a moment for him to realize where the sound was coming from. He crept towards the bathroom door, hesitated a moment, and then peeked inside. Just to check on her, of course. Just to make sure she was okay.

He choked on his spit when he saw her. She was seated on the counter by the sink, running a washcloth up and down her lean limbs, and tapping her foot to the beat of the song in her head. And, she was completely buck-ass naked. Daryl bit back a groan when she propped one leg up on the counter as well, and ran the washcloth along the inside of her thigh. And _fuck_, he was already hard as a rock. He needed to get the hell out of here, and _now_, before she saw him. She'd probably think he was some pathetic pervert, watching her like this.

His cock was absolutely begging him to burst into the room and take her right there, slam into her again and again until she made those desperate little noises he loved to hear. But he knew she didn't want that. Hell, she'd probably kick him out if he tried. Last night was a one-time thing. Stress relief, that's what it was.

She just needed to get off, and maybe wanted to get him off as some kind of power trip. She _did_ seem to enjoy bickering with him, telling him what to do. It was a power thing; that had to be it. Showing him she was in charge. And hell, he was fine with that. He'd be pretty much whatever she wanted, so long as she didn't ask him to leave. And that's why he needed his legs to get him the hell out of here, and his cock to calm the fuck down, before she turned around and saw him.

But Christ, the girl was fucking _perfect_. She was turned away from him, just slightly, and from this angle he could trace with his eyes the winding scar on her back that she'd let him touch the night before. And as fucked up as it was, the scar got him even hotter. Part of it was just knowing she'd let him see it, touch it. A part of her she didn't show to other people. It was hers, and then it was his too. _Theirs._

But in a way, the mark eased his worried mind. If she could survive that, then maybe she could survive this world as well. It meant she was strong, and strong was preferable to pretty in these fucked up times- though this girl somehow managed to be both. Pretty always died. But the scar reassured him that _maybe_ he wouldn't lose her. Maybe he'd get to keep her, something good, for once.

Daryl shifted his weight and the wooden boards under his feet creaked ominously. And just like that, he sprung himself from the room, barreling down the hallway and back into the living room and praying she hadn't seen him. He plopped himself down on the couch with his back against the arm rest, and kicked off his boots.

His heart and his dick were still throbbing to the same rhythm when he heard Abby walking towards him. He quickly pulled his crossbow into his lap and began to fiddle with it. Daryl forced himself not to look up when Abby came up behind him.

"You alright?" she asked. He only nodded. "I'm going to go to bed. Are you coming?" There was an edge of uncertainty in her voice, but Daryl didn't pick up on it. He was too busy worrying about his own predicament.

"I'll be in, in a bit," Daryl replied vaguely, still not looking at her. Abby sighed and left him alone in the living room, finally.

He couldn't lie in bed with her, not right now. If he was going to get any sleep tonight, he needed to take care of this, and fast. His hands were unzipping his fly and pulling out his aching erection before his brain had fully accepted that the actions were necessary. Daryl squeezed the tip once and a drop of precum oozed out. _Shit,_ he needed this. He hadn't had to spend this much time hiding a hard-on since he was a kid.

Daryl wrapped his fist firmly around his length and gave a couple of experimental strokes. Immediately, his balls twitched from the fiction, drawing up slightly. His hand kept moving, without his brain's consent.

Abby stopped in her tracks as soon as she entered the bedroom. What the hell was she doing? She wanted Daryl here, needed him more like it. Last night had been the first sound sleep she'd had in years. And if she closed her eyes, and he wasn't here, she'd _see_ them. Hear them. She needed Daryl. She should have just _told_ him. So she spun on her heel and headed straight back for the living room.

With the back of the couch blocking her line of sight from the kitchen entryway to Daryl's form, it was hard to tell at first, what he was doing. But the unique sound of skin against skin, and Daryl's small grunts gave it away. She watched him for a moment, enjoying the way his shoulders would come up off the arm of the couch and his head would drop forward every few seconds as he got close. But quite quickly, she couldn't just stand by and watch.

Daryl didn't hear her approach. Socks against carpet muffled her footsteps, and anyways, he was far too wrapped up in the fantasy replaying in his mind. _Abby going down on him. Abby moaning his name._ It wasn't until he felt her warm hands on his shoulders that he jolted, and attempted to cover himself. He was mortified. She'd be pissed for sure. And Christ, why wasn't she saying anything?

But Abby knelt down, allowing her fingertips to travel further down his chest, and pressed her lips to the space behind his ear. "_Don't stop,"_ she purred, and the vibrations shot through him in a burst of pleasure that made his member twitch mercilessly. Her lips were ghosting over the back of his neck, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it back so she could have free reign over his abs and pecs.

"A-Abby," he stuttered, not sure of what else to say. She couldn't really want…_that?_ Hell, why would she? He wasn't anything special. Part of him thought that this was just some way of embarrassing him further. She'd pretend she wasn't disgusted, then reject him as soon as he let his guard down. But his cock was throbbing demandingly in his hand, and he was already so close that he wasn't sure he could stop if he tried.

Abby let out a hot breath against the crest of Daryl's ear, and he shuddered in her arms, head lolling back to rest against her shoulder. But he still wasn't moving. "Go on," she murmured into his skin, the sensation leaving him shivering again, "Keep going."

Hesitantly, he began to pump his hand up and down his length once more. And knowing she was watching…_fuck,_ his whole body was buzzing with excitement. "That's it," she praised softly, and he throbbed in response. "Should have come to get me, I would have taken care of you. But then again, I think I like you like this." She punctuated the statement by tweaking his nipples, and watched as another pearlescent drop of precum dripped from his slit.

_Oh, he must like hearing me talk to him._ "What got you so worked up, huh?" Abby tongued the shell of his ear and he let out a deep, guttural groan. _So close._ "Thought I heard you in the bedroom when I was washing off. Did you sneak a peek?"

_Shit, she _had_ heard him. No sense in lying now. _He nodded jerkily, fisting his dick feverously. "Mmm, thought so," she murmured, "Did you like what you saw? It looks like you did. And I was gone so long…you want to know why?"

Daryl whined at the back of his throat, startling himself with the noise, as his hand glided over his slick member. Every time Abby paused she kissed and licked along the curve of his neck, taking her time to trace figure-eights along his muscular chest with her middle finger.

"I was touching myself," she hummed against his skin, "And when I did it, I was thinking about you."

And that did him in. Daryl's body went taught and then pleasure exploded from his balls out down to the tips of his toes. And he was trembling, panting, groaning low and deep as he shot spurt after spurt of thick come across his bare chest. "_Fuck,"_ he breathed, sinking into the couch contentedly.

Panic shook him the moment he realized the warmth behind him was gone, but a second later, Abby was kneeling at his side with a damp towel. Daryl's ears were pink, still unsure of what to make of this. But Abby gave him a sultry smile that put him at ease before cleaning off his chest, and tucking him back into his briefs.

"Had to come back and get you," she told him when he sat up, "I can't sleep without you."

And the thought that Abby needed _him_ for something, left Daryl feeling warm in a way he wasn't used to. "Ya won't have to," he promised. And Abby smiled.


	7. Part 7

_**Keep the reviews coming, guys!**_

**Part Seven**

The embarrassment still hadn't faded when Daryl awoke the next morning wrapped snugly around Abby's soft body. I mean she'd caught him...she'd watched him... fuck damnit he couldn't even admit it in his head. But she hadn't been mad, right? Hadn't asked him to leave or yelled at him or anything like that. Didn't exactly join in or anything either... but the way she'd been touching him and talking in his ear the whole time...Christ, he probably could have gotten off on that alone.

The truth was, he couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. Maybe she was lonely too, just as lonely as he was. But even that didn't explain why she'd take in a mess like him. Hurt, fucked up...between the panic attacks and the nightmares and acting like a goddamn teenager around her, it didn't make a lick of sense why she'd let him stick around. But she had, and she kept on taking care of him, making him feel like he was worth her time.

"Where ya goin'?" he asked her, as she pulled on her jeans and sweater.

"Breakfast!" she announced with a smile, and he quickly dressed and followed her out into the kitchen. He hovered behind her, as he seemed to so greatly enjoy, as she grabbed a few things for them from the cupboard.

"Ain't much left," he commented. And unfortunately, he was quite right. She hadn't left to gather supplies since Daryl had arrived, and even then, she hadn't had much to call her own to begin with. Some canned goods, some jerky, nearly all of which was gone now.

"No there is not," she said thoughtfully, sitting down with him.

"Could go out huntin' soon," he offered, "Maybe not today, give my leg another day to heal up. But it's a good six hour walk to the woods from here. And you'd need to go with me…"

"Oh would I?" Abby interrupted.

Her tone was unreadable, so Daryl opted to tread lightly. "You shouldn't stay here alone."

"I can take care of myself," she countered, "But you're right, we need more food. I'll go out after we eat, comb through the last couple of houses in the area."

"_We'll_ go out," Daryl corrected.

Abby let out a frustrated sigh. "No, _I'll_ go. You said it yourself, you're still healing. We can't have you going out there and getting hurt worse. Besides, I'll be practically next door. Just a milk run, nothing dangerous about it."

"You ain't goin' alone," he growled, an edge of threat in his voice.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "I'm not having you limping around the neighborhood playing walker bait, Daryl. You'll get yourself killed. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."

"No you fuckin' won't! I ain't lettin' you go out there alone, Abby. It ain't happening."

"And how are you going to stop me?" she replied, her voice laced with venom.

And when those words hit him soundly in the gut, Daryl realized that Abby didn't have a clue why he was upset about this. His outburst wasn't about control. He couldn't give less of a fuck who made the calls between the two of them. In fact, he'd be more than happy to follow her into whatever mess she thought suited them. But it was the _following _part that was important. He wanted to be near her. Hell, he fucking needed it.

So Daryl sat back in his chair, putting up his hands in the position of surrender. "Abby, I ain't saying you can't do it yourself." Her expression softened at that, and Daryl took it as permission to continue. "I…don't want us to split up. Sure as hell can't sit 'round here while you're out there. Just…lemme stick with you?"

And the bravery it must have taken for Daryl to utter those words broke through Abby's stubborn facade. "Okay, okay, we'll go together."

"Should always be like that," Daryl added, relieved that she'd agreed with him. Abby got up from the table, then thought better of it and leaned down to press her lips to his temple. He flinched slightly at the unexpected gesture, but Abby chose to ignore it.

"It will be," she promised. But Daryl knew better. Someday, he'd lose her too.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl rapped three times against the red front door of the house. The streets themselves were empty, but he wasn't willing to take any risks. Not with _her_. After several moments, they both clearly heard the sound of dragging feet and hungry snarls.

"Gonna open the door quick, and let 'em out," Daryl explained quietly, "Better to take them on where we've got more space to fight. And run, if it comes to that. You good?"

Abby gave him a curt nod, machete in hand, and glued her eyes the door. When he swung it open, four walkers came ambling out with arms outstretched. They were a nuclear family, it seemed: Mom, dad, son, and daughter. Daryl instinctively went to put down the children, wanting to protect Abby from that dark reality.

His kissing noises lured them towards him, away from Abby's back, while she seamlessly sunk her blade into the father's skull. The walker had a good foot and a half on her, and Daryl couldn't help but be impressed. She removed the knife without any difficulty and took out the mother as well. By the time she turned back around, two small bodies were piled at Daryl's feet, and he was watching her intensely.

"What?" she blurted out.

Daryl's ears reddened, as he shook himself from his trance. "Nothin'," he muttered, leading the way into the house.

"You were checking me out," Abby accused with a smile in her voice.

Daryl stopped short and looked back at her, an odd expression on his face. "Am I allowed to?"

Ah, now she recognized it: uncertainty. "I'd be offended if you didn't," Abby retorted, grinning at him. His tense posture softened to some degree, and he looked away from her shyly.

"Alright, I'll take upstairs you take down," he said.

Abby frowned at him. "No, _I'll_ take the upstairs. You're the one with the bum leg at the moment."

"I can walk fine," Daryl scoffed.

"You're going to rip your stitches!"

"_Abby_," Daryl growled. Something about the way this girl refused to take direction both thrilled and infuriated him. Though the truth was, he figured downstairs was safer. More exit routes. And if there were any walkers left in the house, they'd be upstairs. He needed to be the one to go, the thing standing between her and danger.

Abby scowled at him, then threw her hands up in frustration. "_Fine_," she huffed, turning to venture deeper into the house. Daryl watched her walk away, eyes focused on the tight denim around her ass. He blushed again when he realized what he was doing, then quickly headed upstairs.

The top floor of the house consisted of a few bedrooms, and a bathroom. Nothing particularly interesting. He raided medicine cabinets and bedside tables. Underneath what had been the father's side of the California king in the master bedroom was a baseball bat. Daryl palmed that as well, continuing to comb through the rooms.

He went into the boy's bedroom. Posters lined the walls, and bookshelves were filled with monster truck DVD's and rap CD's. Nothing useful, not even some weed hidden under the mattress. He tried the little girl's room next. The room was painted cotton candy pink, and contained what had to be every Barbie that had ever been produced. The girl had been young at the turn, no older than ten. There wouldn't be anything useful here.

The last door Daryl assumed was a bathroom. But when he cracked it open, he found a nursery. And that's when his heart sank. _Judith_. He loved that little girl like she was his own blood. But now she was gone, just like the rest of them. He fingered the cool, smooth wood of the crib absentmindedly. He peeked inside. The lining was bloody.

Downstairs, Abby had already collected the leftover food and supplies throughout the first floor. Through the kitchen, she spotted a door that couldn't lead outside. She opened it and found a staircase leading down. It was pitch black. But a basement was a good find. People kept spare food there, batteries, dry goods that wouldn't spoil. She ruffled through several drawers in the kitchen until she found what she was looking for: a flashlight.

Abby flicked the switch on and found that the batteries still had some juice. So with one last look behind her, she began the slow journey down into the basement, following the thin beam of light her new find created.

The stairs were old and creaky. _Cliché of a horror flick,_ Abby thought fleetingly. But when she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the figure her ray of light fell upon sucked the humor right out of her. They approached her from both sides of the staircase, cutting off her way out before she could blink. The basement was small, smaller than she'd expected, and there were no other exits in sight. Not that she could see, anyways.

She raised her machete and struck down the closest. But there were more. So many more and she couldn't tell how many as darkness fogged her ability to think. At the sensation of slimy fingers on her arm she sliced blindly into the air, hitting nothing. She could _smell_ them. The backs of her shoulders hit concrete and when she turned to flee she hit another wall. A corner. They'd backed her into a fucking corner.

The shriek Abby let out echoed through the house in waves, and shook Daryl so thoroughly that for a moment, he was frozen. But only a moment; fear wasn't the Dixon way. He shot down the stairs and through the living room and kitchen, finding the place empty. _Where the fuck is she? _But then he saw an open door that had once been shut. And Abby _would_ be stupid enough to go down into the basement by her fucking self.

He barreled down the stairs into blackness, shouting "Abby!" And when he heard her small whimper in return, he began to thrash blindly, killing every decaying body in his path. But he couldn't see her. _Couldn't fucking see her_. "Fucking say something!" he hollered.

"I'm here!" she called weakly, her voice breaking. And the fear in her voice had his heart hammering wildly, body buzzing with panic. When he reached her, he didn't hesitate. Daryl flung the girl over his shoulder and took off towards the stairs once more. He needed to see her in the light. Just needed to _see_ her.

He slammed the basement door closed with the heel of his boot and practically threw Abby into the kitchen, setting her on her feet against the counter. He was already pawing at her frantically, hands skimming over every inch of her. "You bit?" he demanded, and she shook her head feebly, then realized he wasn't looking at her face and thought better of it.

"No," she said softly, but he didn't stop touching her. Hands running up and down her arms and legs, searching for that one bite or scratch that would take her away from him. She could feel his hands shaking as he hastily inspected her.

"Daryl," Abby began, but he wouldn't look at her. She reached out and grasped him by his biceps, "Daryl, I'm fine. I'm not bit. You got there in time."

Daryl stared into Abby's misty eyes for a moment, still panting. Then abruptly, his mouth connected with hers in a scorching kiss. His tongue exploded into her mouth as his fingers met the frayed edge of her tank top, pulling at it hastily until it was up and over her head. One hand yanked at her hair, pulling her head back for better access, while the other cupped and massaged her breast.

Not a single coherent thought had managed to pierce its way through his mind since Daryl had first heard Abby scream. From that moment on, he'd functioned purely on instinct. In the basement it had been _kill, protect._ Now it was _need, want, mine_. Meanwhile, Abby reached out and had his belt undone and his zipper down before he could suck in a breath. He hissed when his throbbing length met the cool air, moving his lips down to suck and nip at her neck as she caressed him.

Daryl groaned into her neck when she palmed his shiny head, already slick with precum. She made a fist around him and he instinctually rutted into her hand, biting the spot where her neck met her shoulder and shuddering at how badly he wanted to break the skin. Abby let out a sharp hiss at the sting of his teeth. And it wasn't a hiss of pleasure. Daryl immediately broke away, trying to step back from her, but she held tightly to his waist band and his throbbing cock, refusing to let him go.

She could feel how badly he wanted this. She wasn't going to let him back out, not this time.

"Tell me to stop, Abby," he said softly, and his voice was pleading. But pleading for what, she wondered.

Ignoring him, she began to slowly stroke his member, twisting her wrist just so on every pass in a way that made him tremble. His fingers made their way to her hips, grasping her tightly. She knew it would bruise.

Abruptly, he spun her around so her hands were planted firmly against the countertop. Daryl bit into her shoulder, sucking hard at the sensitive flesh. His hands were fumbling with the zipper on her shorts. "Tell me to stop," he whispered again. His thumbs hooked into her shorts and panties, pulling them down and off her body in a single go. He knelt behind her, hands stroking up the insides of her things, rising up slowly until he was towering above her, cock pressed into the curve of her ass.

Abby ground her hips against him, startling a groan from deep in his chest and forcing his head to fall forward. He spun her around and thrust her up onto the counter, finger nails biting into her thighs. "Tell me to stop," he begged, searching her eyes.

"Don't you fucking dare," she whispered back, pulling him closer by his belt loops. "I want this. I'm sure." His baby blue eyes were clear, now. She watched them darken to a shade she hadn't seen before, something akin to hunger.

Without warning, Daryl pulled apart her thighs and sheathed himself inside her wet heat. They both moaned loudly at the sensation of him filling her. Giving neither of them a chance to catch their breaths, and mostly wanting to prevent himself from thinking too damn much, Daryl pulled out and slammed into her again. He fucked her at a bruising pace, driving into her again and again until she was seeing stars. He was in his own world, caught up in the pleasure, watching himself enter her over and over as if it was some kind of waking dream.

But then he felt Abby's soft fingers trace a winding path from his shoulder up his neck and to his cheek. He met her eyes, finally. And everything slowed down. He tilted his head to the side to kiss the inside of her wrist. Then slowly, hesitantly, he dipped his head down to press his lips to hers. She grinned at the way his body relaxed when she responded eagerly. It was as if, even buried deep inside her, he still worried she might reject him.

Abby locked her ankles behind Daryl's back and drew him deeper. They kissed slowly, intensely. And Abby shivered when she felt one of his hands trail tantalizingly along her side and to her neck, tilting her head up to him just so. His fingertips against the nape of neck had her gasping and shivering with want, and he drew back from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

Abby opened her eyes to watch him, and when she saw the expression on his face she couldn't help but smile. He just looked so fucking _happy_. Adorably so. And he really was. Daryl tried to think back, pinpoint any time in his sad, pathetic life that he'd felt like this, and he came back empty-handed. This was nothing like his drunk hookups of the past. This was…_real. _He trusted her. He wanted her, and he knew- for once, without a shadow of a doubt- that she wanted him back.

With his other hand supporting her leg, Daryl began to gently rock against her. As happy as he was, this was terrifying. He had no idea how to do…this. Not just fucking, but something slow and intimate. And yet, it seemed like his body knew what to do. The craving for something warm and unhurried and personal came naturally, outweighed his apprehension.

Daryl was positive that with the two of them connected this way, she must be able to feel his heart thundering against his chest. But if she'd noticed, she certainly didn't mind. Abby stroked her fingers through his hair the way he liked as he ground himself against her.

For the first time in his life, sex wasn't some race to the finish line. The shouting of his father from the back of his mind- _You're no good. You don't deserve this. Girls like her will never care about some pathetic hick like you-_ it faded away into oblivion, and all he could hear were the soft sighs and moans Abby kept letting out as he pressed into her. His past didn't matter. The scars didn't matter. Nothing could ruin something this _right_.

He pushed harder, keeping his strokes long and slow but more forceful. He could feel her pulsing around him, gripping him in a hold so tight and hot that he thought he might collapse. And suddenly, Daryl was overwhelmed with the desire to feel her come around him, twitch and moan and convulse like she had around his fingers two nights before.

"Tell me," he whispered suddenly, though it came out as a groan.

Her eyebrows bunched in confusion, briefly, then she murmured, "I'm not going anywhere."

He snaked a hand between them and rubbed at her sensitive nub, the way she'd showed him, never slowing his deep thrusts. "God, _Daryl_," she moaned, clenching down on him again.

"You're so good," he breathed into their shared air, forehead still pressed against hers, "so good."

She scratched lightly at his scalp, and he shivered all the way down his spine. "Don't stop," she moaned, "Please don't stop. I'm so close."

And he was right there with her, teetering on the edge with his whole body vibrating so intensely that he thought he might die. "Abby," he moaned, when she clenched down around him again. "Tell me you're mine," he half-whispered, and her eyes opened at that. They were the clearest, most shimmery silver-gray that he'd seen them.

"I'm yours," she said softly, and Daryl smashed his mouth into hers just in time. They fell over the edge together, both trembling, panting wrecks. Daryl rutted against her frantically and she milked him for every drop, both blinded with bliss. He moaned loudly into her mouth when it hit him, drowning out every soft sound that escaped her, his hands pressed to either side of her face. And as their breathing slowed, he let his head fall to her shoulder, and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of her softly stroking his hair.


	8. Part 8

_**Here's part 8 guys, sorry for the delay. Leave lots of reviews, they're good motivators x **_

**Part Eight**

Daryl was still panting lightly against Abby's sex-damp skin when it occurred to him.

"Shit," he muttered, picking his head up off of her shoulder, "We didn't…didn't use a…" his cheeks were pink with the embarrassment of it all, but Abby just smiled.

"We don't need to, Daryl. I'm fixed."

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, "Fixed?"

Abby nodded, "Have one of those five-year things they put in your arm. Nothing to worry about."

Daryl nodded at that, and shifted his weight awkwardly in between her legs. Any confidence he'd exuded in those moments of blind want vanished from Daryl's psyche, replaced by crippling insecurity. His eyes set on the place where Abby's neck met her shoulder. It was already bruising deep purple and red. He'd _bitten_ her. And while some primal part of his brain took a deep pleasure in her wearing his mark, an equal, if not greater part of him was overcome with regret. He'd hurt her.

Abby watched Daryl's eyes cloud over, an emotion flitting through him that she couldn't identify. He reached out and stroked lightly at the crescent-shaped bite. Daryl knew how this was going to go. Abby would claim she was fine, that she didn't mind a bit of pain. She'd say she had wanted him just as much as he'd wanted her, that getting fucked on a countertop was all part of the plan. She'd say she was never the least bit frightened by how aggressive he'd been, with his possessiveness. And she'd be lying.

"What's wrong?" Abby asked softly, reaching up to touch his face.

Daryl jerked back instinctually, and he hated himself for it, but the guilt was overwhelming him. Abby hooked her ankles behind him, though, refusing to let him go. He was caged, and Dixons loathed confinement. And though Abby saw the distress in his eyes, she held tight all the same.

"No. I'm not letting you pull away. Whatever it is, say it."

"We shouldn't have…_I_ never should have…" Daryl ground out, and Abby's heart sank. It had just been hormones and adrenaline, not the affection she'd thought she'd seen in him. And now he regretted it.

But Dixons were perceptive to a fault, and Daryl didn't fail to notice the way Abby's shoulders slumped and smile fell into a look he knew well. Embarrassment. Sadness. _Rejection. _He couldn't be the one to make her feel that way. Christ, none of this was coming out right.

"I hurt you!" he blurted out in a rush. Abby gave him a confused look, which he returned tenfold.

"No, you didn't," she scoffed, as if that was the stupidest statement in the world.

To prove his point, Daryl pressed down a bit too roughly on the bite mark, and watched her flinch at the sudden pain.

"Yeah, I did. And I just…_jumped_ you. Didn't even give you a chance to…fuck…"

Abruptly, Abby smacked Daryl hard in the chest. "Seriously?! That's what this is about? For fuck's sake Daryl, if it helps, next time I'll bite you as hard as I can and we can have matching bruises. _Dumbass_…" She hopped down from the counter, pacing twice in front of him then reeling back around and smacking him on the bicep again. "You're really trying to tell me I didn't want that? Are you that thick? I was practically _begging_ you for it. As usual, might I add. As if _that's_ not going to give me a complex…"

Daryl's hands shot out to grasp Abby by the shoulders, holding her in place.

"So…you're not mad?" he asked finally, needing to hear her say it.

"Of course not," Abby told him softly, her lips quirking into a small smile. "Christ, Dixon. Sometimes you have the emotional maturity of a snail."

"Hey," he growled halfheartedly, but the relief that she didn't hate him was so all-consuming that he couldn't muster up any true hostility behind it. They gathered their things and began to walk back to the house.

"You know, I'd be more than willing to do that again sometime," Abby said in an offhand manner.

Daryl raised an eyebrow hopefully at that. "So it was…uh…alright?"

"You were there, how did you think it was?" Abby said with a grin, and Daryl's cheeks heated an embarrassing shade of crimson. How could he not realize she'd enjoyed herself? It's not as if she had tried to hide it, being that the only people around to judge were long since dead, and utterly disinterested in things of a sexual nature.

Daryl's chest inflated with pride. But with the awareness that he might not have the balls to say it later, he softly let out, "Was good. Just…ain't done it like that before."

"What, on a counter top?" Abby laughed. With Daryl a half step behind her, she couldn't see the seriousness of his expression.

"No…" Daryl trailed off, trying to find the right word. And then one occurred to him. "Slow."

Abby stopped in her tracks, appraising him. She'd guessed at his relative inexperience as far as anything intimate was concerned, but maybe she'd given him more credit than was due. With his most recent performance, she'd assumed he was fairly seasoned with this whole thing. But perhaps it was just raw talent she'd had the pleasure to experience, rather than know-how?

Without missing a beat, Abby laced her fingers into Daryl's while they walked. Though he seemed surprised by the gesture, he squeezed her hand appreciatively. "Did you like it, though?" Abby asked him quietly, "Slow?"

"Yeah," he responded slowly, "It's different…but good. Then again, everything's kinda different with you." Daryl immediately tensed and blushed when the words slipped out. But Abby expected as much. So rather than belabor the matter, she ignored his confession, smiling to herself.

"Well, there's more we could do," Abby said carefully, "That's slow."

"Dunno much about that kind of thing," Daryl said softly, refusing to look at her.

"That's alright," Abby murmured, "We can learn together." And that seemed to be the right thing to say, because Daryl let out a deep sigh, and stroked his thumb absentmindedly over the inside of her wrist as they made their way back to the house.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

They hadn't found much on their chaotic excursion. A couple cans of food, some old batteries, a baseball bat. Not nearly what they'd need in order to survive. Through dinner they sat close, in amicable silence, both realizing this fact. But it was Daryl who said it first.

"We can't stay here much longer," he let out, watching carefully for her reaction. When her face was a veil of indifference, he continued. "Don't got the supplies to stick around. Hardly found anything in the houses around here. Think it's time for us to move on, but…I ain't going anywhere without you."

Abby's lips parted, and nose scrunched. "You thought I wouldn't go with you?"

_Of course I did, I don't deserve someone like you_. "Maybe."

Sighing, Abby climbed across the couch to press herself against his side, draping his arm over her shoulder. She enjoyed the weight of him, the warmth. And though he might never admit it aloud, it felt damn good to hold Abby like this. Like she was _his._ She'd said she was, when he was inside her. But there was a rule about that, wasn't there? Merle would always go on about how shit you said when you were fucking didn't count. But Christ, he wanted her to be his. He really did.

"Like you said, we're not splitting up anymore," Abby said simply, breaking him from his trance. "We can leave tomorrow morning. That way, we'll have a couple days of food to pack. Just in case."

"Good," Daryl grunted, letting his arm hang loosely over her body. He wanted to crush her against him, to extinguish every last drop of negative space. But she wasn't his to crush, so he wouldn't.

"I'm so lucky I found you," Abby murmured, "You saved me, you know?"

"Think you've got that the wrong way around," Daryl replied just as softly. _How could she think that? She'd plucked him up from the side of the road for fuck's sake._

"No, it's true," Abby insisted, "After what happened to me…I never slept a full night. For _years_, Daryl, not once. And then you come along and it happens right away, like it's the easiest thing. No one's ever made me feel so safe. Even before when I had a group, they were my friends, and I had my job to do and people depended on me…but it wasn't quite the same as _this_, do you know what I mean?"

"Think so," Daryl nodded thoughtfully, "But ain't ya had boyfriends and stuff?"

Abby gave him a grim look, "I have. But it was never…right. There were a couple boys, but I never _slept_ with them. Not like I can with you. And that's a big difference."

Daryl toyed absentmindedly with the delicate curves of her hair. There she was going again, acting like he was different, worth something. Worth something _to her_. It was more than he'd ever allowed himself to hope for. And a large part of him wanted to reject her words out of instinct. But each time she made him feel this way, that reaction lessened. The part of his brain that resonated with words of his father was being chipped away by this delicate angel, and it was terrifying.

Did she even realize what she was doing to him?

Abby yawned into his bicep and he smiled softly at her. "C'mon," he said gently, helping her to her feet, "Let's getcha to bed."

They both sat down on the California king fully clothed. It was different now, now that they were kind of, sort of, together. Taking their clothes off in front of one another had been so easy when it didn't tease at things to come.

Daryl was seated on the edge of the bed untying his boots, when he felt the weight behind him shift. When Abby's hands trailed over his shoulders and down his chest, he didn't flinch. "I've got an idea for something we could try," she whispered against the shell of his ear, making him shiver. "Something slow."

And _good lord_ did he like the sound of that.

"Ready to go again? Insatiable 'lil thing, ain't ya?" Daryl teased. And it was pleasing how naturally the words left him.

"Only for you," Abby murmured back, running her tongue expertly along the knob of his spine. He was already painfully hard. What was it with this girl? But there was a thought gnawing at the back of his mind, and if he didn't get it out now, it would chip away at him until he fucked this up completely.

Daryl turned to face Abby, meeting her dusty blue eyes. He cupped her cheek, taking pleasure in the way Abby's nose scrunched up ever so slightly when he didn't go in to kiss her right away.

"Are you mine?" he asked softly, heart pounding against his chest. _This was it. The moment she would leave him. The moment she'd realize what a pathetic fuck he really was and tell him so._

"Said as much, didn't I?" she replied. A question for a question, only confirming his worst fears.

"Yeah, but…we were sorta in the middle of something…" he said awkwardly.

"And you're worried I didn't mean it?" Abby finished his thoughts for him. Daryl eyed her anxiously, his face half contorted in a flinch, as if preparing for a blow. Though not the physical kind; not this time. "Daryl, I'm yours. All yours. All of me."

She threaded her fingers into his hair, massaging gently. "But I hope you realize, that means you're mine too." And for all the time they'd spent together, Abby could see the waves of tension leaving his body.

"Like the sound of that," Daryl whispered. "Might have to keep reminding me, though."

"Why's that?"

"I guess…" Daryl struggled to make this sound less pathetic than it was in his mind, "Guess it's still hard to believe a girl like you would want someone like me."

"And what kind of girl am I?" Abby asked him. Her tone was playful, but she was forcing it. It was becoming increasingly evident that Daryl didn't value himself too highly. And considering what a god he was in Abby's eyes, it was hard for her to grasp. But she'd get through to him. She _had_ to. Why were they so different in his eyes? What kind of girl was she?

"Perfect," he said so quietly that she barely heard him. But nonetheless, she _did _hear him, and couldn't help but press her lips firmly to his for it. The kiss was heated from the start, knowing tongues no longer exploring tentatively, but instead stroking and flicking to extract maximum pleasure.

Abby fell back into the bed, allowing Daryl to press her into the mattress with the full weight of his body. She felt his lips move to her jaw, and then her neck. "Shoulda been like this the first time," he mumbled against her skin, lapping at the bite mark he'd left her. "In a real bed. You deserve a real bed."

Abby's back arched up when he sucked hard at her pulse point, and she let out a breathy moan. "Think I prefer it the way we did it," she panted, "Was more…us."

"Us?" Daryl pulled off her sweater, breaking away from her body for the briefest of moments, "Like the way that sounds." Her shorts and panties had been slid off of her body before she had a chance to breathe, and suddenly things were painfully uneven. Abby in all her naked glory underneath, and Daryl above, still fully clothed. He hadn't even taken off his vest.

"This is feeling a little bit unfair," Abby huffed, pushing his vest off his shoulders and shucking it to the floor. She went for his belt next, tugging and pulling until he was naked from the waist down. Daryl pulled her up until she was straddling his lap, wanting to be as close to her as possible. It was instinct really, the desire to touch every inch of her skin, all the fucking time.

She kissed him sweetly, and Daryl thought vaguely that no one had ever touched him so gently before. It occurred to him a moment later that he'd never _let_ her touch him, _really_ touch him. She'd never pushed him to take off his shirt, and he'd never offered. Could he do that? Did she need him to? Did _he _need to?

Refusing to let his mind ruin things, he broke the kiss, searching her eyes.

She was confused, briefly, until the words met her ears. "Take it off me." His voice broke with the magnitude of what he was asking. He'd never been with anyone without that all-important barrier between them. He'd even lost his temper with a couple of doctors who'd asked him to strip off his wife beater in the ER. But this was _Abby_. Everything else had been different with her. This couldn't be the exception.

Daryl's breathing hitched when he felt her delicate fingers at his collar, undoing the first button. His heart stuttered and raced unevenly because even though Abby had seen him shirtless before, this wasn't remotely the same. Before it had been all doubt and misunderstanding. Now, things were clear enough. He wanted her. She wanted him back. And he couldn't help but tremble slightly at the thought.

Abby took her time with the buttons, watching Daryl's face carefully for panic. This part, at least, was familiar territory. He'd let her touch his chest a handful of times. So she started with that. Kissing and sucking each inch of skin she revealed, until his shirt was hanging open invitingly, and he was panting under the soft movements of her tongue.

She met his eyes one last time before pushing his shirt from his shoulders. He seemed to hesitate a moment, bare and at her mercy for the first time. Then he scooted forward on the bed, giving Abby room to slide in behind him. She understood that this was an offering, and the fact that he trusted her with this made her just as nervous. Abby pressed her lips to the crook of his neck, and Daryl shivered violently.

"It's okay, it's just me," she murmured. The scars were about as bad as she'd imagined. Some shallow and white, others angry red and thick, as if they'd never truly healed. And on some level, they hadn't. Abby began to trace the longest of them with her middle finger. Daryl gasped when she first made contact, a tremor shooting through his body as he forced himself not to flinch away from her touch.

Abby kissed her way from scar to scar, and with each gentle gesture, Daryl seemed to relax into the bed. She kissed her way all the way down his back, and then back up again, sucking softly at his earlobe. She could feel him trembling slightly still, but it no longer seemed to be out of fear.

"You alright?" she whispered, tonguing his pulse point.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm just…" and when Abby looked down into Daryl's lap, she saw where the sentence was going. He was hard as a rock. And it appeared that Daryl had reached his breaking point. Before Abby could squeal her displeasure, he had yanked her across his lap once more, grinding himself against her as he kissed his way down her neck.

The desperation in his eyes made it clear enough what he needed. Daryl was vulnerable right now, and Abby knew how to give him the reassurance he needed. Before he could process what she was doing, Abby took his member firmly in her hand and sank swiftly onto him.

"_Christ,_ Abby…fuck!" Daryl moaned out, throwing his head back and crushing her to his chest. She moved her hips shallowly against him, rocking and grinding rather than thrusting.

"Shit, Abby. So tight….wet…I didn't even…touch you…how…" Daryl panted out against her neck, kissing and nipping every spare inch of skin he could access.

"Don't need you to touch me first," Abby panted into his mouth, "Just being with you…you letting me touch you…so hot…can't help it."

And those words nearly made him lose it right there. _Can't help it._ As if he was some suave, experienced, good-looking man. The kind that threw a girl up against a tree in the movies, and fucked her hard with the moonlight streaming down their perfect backs. He wasn't that man; he never would be. But the prospect that Abby saw him that way…he very nearly let three dangerous words slip from his lips. Words he'd never uttered before, not to anyone.

Daryl held tightly to Abby's hips, helping her move up and down over his throbbing length. He went so much deeper from this angle, filling her in the most satisfying way. Abby clenched her muscles around him intermittently, and each time he groaned from deep in his chest, and she felt him pulse inside of her.

He could feel himself losing control, getting lost in the tight, wet, pulsing core of this beautiful woman. And Daryl wasn't entirely sure how close Abby was, but he knew what he needed to hear. He planted a hard kiss on her red, swollen lips, and whimpered against them, "Tell me."

"I'm yours," she whispered back. Daryl grasped the back of her head with one hand, using the other to buck her hips harder against him. And meeting her silver-fogged eyes, he exploded inside of her. His body twitched violently with the force of it, and he moaned openly. "Oh God, Abby, _fuck._"

Watching Daryl come apart underneath him, knowing two small words could have such an effect on him, Abby fell over the edge as well. Her release magnified by his, she convulsed around him, clutching him in a desperate effort not to collapse. She chanted his name like a prayer, as her orgasm prolonged his. Eventually, they both relaxed back into the bed, with Abby draped lifelessly over his chest.

"Think I like slow," Abby thought she heard Daryl murmur, before she was pulled into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	9. Part 9

_**Ok guys, so this chapter is a long one, but there's lots of good stuff in there, I promise! Sweat and tears went into this one, so review, review, review. **_

**Part Nine**

They were a good six hours into their hike through the woods, and Daryl could tell Abby was exhausted. She wouldn't say anything, with her knuckles white over the straps of her pack and her booted feet faltering every few steps. But she didn't have to.

"Why don't we take a rest for a while and have us some lunch? Been out here since dawn, as it is," Daryl offered cautiously. Abby tended to have the same knee-jerk reaction he did, when someone insinuated he was weak. And weak was the last thing Abby was, he knew that more than anyone. But if she dropped dead of exhaustion, it wouldn't do either of them any good.

"I could keep going," Abby said with a suspicious glance in his direction.

"Nah, I'm getting hungry. Don't have to be for too long." Abby knew this game well. But the effort he was putting forth to corral her into taking a break was endearing. Daryl shifted from foot to foot, anxiously awaiting her reaction. And she couldn't help but smile at his angst. He wanted to take care of her; there was nothing embarrassing about that. And even if she was the kind of girl who by and large didn't need to be taken care of, that didn't mean she didn't _want_ to be.

Abby let out an exaggerated sigh, "Alright, lunch it is then." Her heart fluttered at the relieved smile he gave her. Moving as if guided by sonar, Daryl led her through the thick trees and managed to locate a tall hill. It would give them plenty of visibility. And walkers didn't tend to favor climbing mountains for sport.

Daryl plopped down with his back supported by a tree, and Abby climbed in right next to him, their sides pressed together comfortably. They shared a jar of peaches and a couple granola bars in relative silence, watching the woods come alive below them.

"You like it out here," Abby remarked. Not a question.

Daryl gave a small shrug, but couldn't conceal the upward quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Grew up in the woods, mostly."

"How so?"

"Spent all the time I could outside when I was a kid. To get away from my dad. To hunt. Most of my best memories happened out here."

"Tell me one."

Daryl furrowed his brow a moment, racking his mind, but then his expression softened into a lopsided smile.

"First time I tagged a buck I was eight. Merle'd had me using his old bow for a while, tryin' my hand at smaller game. But then one morning he woke me up 'round 4am and told me I wouldn't be a real man 'til I could knock out something bigger than me. We tracked it for damn near 12 hours, 'til I was close to passing out from exhaustion, and the heat. But then we came into this clearing and he was just waitin' there for me. I took him down with one shot, right between the eyes. Then Merle, he showed me how to butcher it up proper, and we made a bonfire and camped the night, eatin' and watchin' the stars. My brother, he could be a real douchebag a lot of the time. Didn't exactly have a whole lotta friends. But when I took down that buck, he said he was proud. Probably the first time anyone said that to me." Daryl sighed, staring out into the trees. "No one ever took care of me like Merle."

Daryl trailed off, somewhat startled by how easily the words had left his lips. He hardly ever spoke at length, and if he did, it sure as hell wasn't about himself. But Abby made it so easy. And he missed Merle, Christ he did.

Abby pressed her cheek to his shoulder, hugging tightly to his arm. Images of a young Daryl shivering, alone in the woods flitted through her mind. Daryl sprinting into thick darkness to escape his father, tending to his wounds, eating berries and plants to survive. Her heart broke for him, but all she could do was hug him tighter. Daryl wasn't the type of man who wanted her pity, and saying 'I'm sorry' would do more harm than good.

"'Til you, I guess," Daryl suddenly said. Though it wasn't quite so sudden by his standards. The outburst fit perfectly into the stream of thoughts he'd been sorting through since he'd gone quiet.

"What 'til me?"

"Nobody's taken care of me the way Merle did when I was a kid, 'til you. Even my people back at the prison. They were family, but it wasn't like they weren't getting anything from me. I got them food, protected them. And I know that wasn't why they looked out for me, know they cared, but it still ain't the same as what you did. Taking me in, and fixing me up."

"I'm glad I did," Abby whispered.

"Me too." Daryl dipped his head down to stare at her for a moment, getting lost in her deeply foggy eyes. And for the first time in his life, he kissed a girl for no reason at all. There was no thought to what would come of it, where the kiss was going. There was no crippling insecurity. Only his lips on hers, his hand cupping her cheek, the soft surprised sound she made in the back of her throat, then the murmur of happiness when the kiss continued.

He broke away from her slowly, surprised not that he'd kissed her to begin with, but by how much he'd _enjoyed_ it. Kissing for the sake of kissing; it was another first for him, but everything seemed new with Abby. He wasn't one to complain.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It was beginning to get dark, and Daryl was beginning to get unreasonably worried that they'd be camping without any gear, when they saw the small structure in the distance. Daryl knew what it was immediately. He'd been places like this many times when he was growing up. With his dad, and with Merle. He didn't exactly love the idea of taking up residence there for the night, but if it meant some protection for Abby, he couldn't turn the place down.

"What is this place?" Abby asked once inside, with an air of awe.

"Moonshiner's shack," Daryl answered, once he'd checked the front and back doors were secure.

The place was utterly filthy, buckets and dust-covered paraphernalia strewn across the floor, table covered with half-full mason jars and cigarette butts.

"Is that what all this is?" Abby asked thoughtfully, surveying the gallon-jugs filled with clear liquid. "Would be a hell of a way to pass the time," Abby added, shooting a hopeful glance in Daryl's direction.

Daryl snorted. "Ya wanna get lit? Now?"

Abby picked up a glass and sniffed the liquid curiously. "Could be fun. I've never had moonshine before."

Daryl quirked an eyebrow at that. "Never? Well shit, girl, we're gonna have to change that." He watched her fixedly as she took a sip from the dusty old glass, grimaced, then gave him a satisfied smile.

"A bit rough going down, but I bet I'll get used to it," she said, and Daryl grinned wolfishly.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout." Grabbing a jug and two glasses, Daryl sauntered over to a beat-up blue-green armchair and plopped down gracelessly. Abby looked between his seat, and the dirty floor, and crossed her arms in feigned annoyance. But rather than dwell on the matter, she strode right up to him and vaulted herself swiftly across his lap, prompting him to let out a surprised _"Umph."_

"Oh, we're sharing now, are we? Coulda warned me," he huffed, but there was a smile in his voice.

"Well it wasn't particularly gentlemanly to take the only available seat, now, was it?" Abby retorted, and Daryl grinned guiltily. He poured the both of them a drink and handed hers over.

"Why don't we play a drinking game?" Abby offered.

"A what?"

"You know, a drinking game. You play it to get drunk."

"Never needed help getting lit before," Daryl responded skeptically.

"Come on, give it a try. Let's play…Never Have I Ever. Here's the rules. When it's your turn you say something you've never done. If I've done it, I drink. And if I haven't done it either, you drink." Abby gave him an encouraging smile, met by a cynical frown. "I'll go first. Never have I ever shot a crossbow. See, now you drink."

Daryl took a deep sip from his glass. "Not much of a game."

"Well, that was just a warm up. So now you go."

Daryl thought hard for a moment. "Never been on vacation."

Abby wanted to prod there, ask him more about his childhood. But she could see the threat in his eyes, past demons yearning to take hold. Abby took a sip. "That's a good one," she praised cautiously. "I've never…been to jail," Abby said. "As a prisoner," she then added, remembering that he'd taken up residence in a prison with his former group.

Daryl gave her a dark look. "That what you think of me?" _Of course she does. Probably figures a redneck like me was in and out of jail his whole damn life. Bet she thinks I was at that damn prison to begin with, caught in my orange jumpsuit at the turn. _

"No! I didn't mean for anything serious. Just the drunk tank. I've gotten thrown in there, a couple of times," Abby quickly backtracked.

Daryl stared at her hard, expression stoic. "Drink up," he ordered, making his point. Abby took a small sip, and in return he downed his full glass in a single go. He squirmed underneath her, clearly wanting distance, and Abby knew she'd fucked up.

Time to change the topic. "Never have I ever done it doggy style," she blurted out bluntly, and Daryl gaped at her, the aggression in his face melting away. Mission accomplished.

"Wh-what - you – I mean…" Daryl stuttered out.

"I didn't want them to see the scar," Abby clarified softly, and Daryl's eyes lightened even more. _She let me see it. Maybe that meant something._

"Your turn," she reminded him quietly, stroking gently at the line of his jaw.

He watched her closely for a moment, then spat out "Never gone down on a girl." And when Abby's face betrayed nothing, he continued, "Not that I wouldn't want to. Just never had the occasion."

Abby drank, then nodded thoughtfully, not sure what she could say that wouldn't embarrass him in some way. "I've never had a guy take me home to meet his family."

He stared at her, not drinking. _Say it. Just fucking say it. She needs to know. Man the fuck up, Dixon._ "I've never had a girlfriend."

This time, Abby was the one to gape at him. "Never?"

He looked away shyly, "Nah, never seen the same girl twice, to be honest."

"How come?" she asked tentatively, fingers moving soothingly through his hair.

"Girls in my town weren't really…my type, I guess. Don't think I was ever with one sober. And it was hard to be with anybody, considerin'…" Daryl left the statement open-ended, motioning bleakly towards his chest. _The scars_. "Always kept my shirt on. But figured, if I was with a girl more than once, they were bound to start thinkin' that was weird."

"You let me see," Abby reminded him, for both of their benefits.

His eyes bore into her, "You're different."

"And what am I?" Abby questioned hesitantly. _Not his girlfriend, apparently._

"You're…my girl." He felt content with that title. _His. His girl._ "Girlfriend don't sound right for us, they come n' go." _I sound like a fucking moron. She's gonna think I ain't into this._

"And I'm not going," Abby immediately said, curtailing his worries. _Please believe me this time._

Daryl's eyes shined with honesty, "I hope not."

Abby nodded, and took a deep swig from her cup. "Well, I've never told a boyfriend I loved them."

He finished off what was left of his drink. "Didn't tell them or didn't feel it?"

Abby shrugged. "Either. Both. Like I told you, the few guys I tried to date, I couldn't even _sleep_ with. And if I couldn't do that, well, there couldn't have been that much there to begin with."

Daryl poured out more moonshine for both of them. She was eyeing him expectantly, still petting his head. He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to. But there was still a good chance she'd go running for the hills. _Emotional maturity of a snail_. He remembered when she'd said that to him. It had been a joke, at the time. But Christ, she didn't know the half of it. Did he really want to risk it? Could he afford not to?

"I've never…" he began, heart pounding, "Told someone I love them." _And I want to say it to you._

Abby's brow furrowed in confusion, thinking he was repeating her previous confession, but then she started to understand.

"Not even Merle?" she asked gently, "Your Mom?"

"Nah. No one. Not sure I'd know how." He threw the rest of his drink down his throat, trying to numb the look of pity in her eyes. But it wasn't pity really, because the corner of her mouth was tilted up in an almost-smile, and her eyes were soft and warm like the rest of her.

"I think you do know. You've just never let yourself."

_I wish it was that easy._

"Has anyone ever said it to you?" Abby asked.

He thought hard. Merle, certainly not. Real men didn't talk about their feelings. His mom was always too high. And then everyone at the prison…they'd called him _family_, at least. That was something. And Daryl knew that for other people, family implied love shared. But where he came from, that wasn't the case.

"No, don't think so," Daryl finally admitted, cringing slightly. But Abby remained as serene as ever, kissing him soundly on the lips. And feeling fairly certain that he would never believe her if she told him now how she felt, drunk, after his confession, Abby opted for a different tactic.

She deepened the kiss, darting out her tongue to trail lazily along his lower lip, requesting entry. And when his lips parted slightly, her tongue delved inside, massaging tentatively at the writhing muscle that was Daryl's tongue. She pulled back and bit softly at his lip, just enough to smart.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, moving to straddle him for better access. Daryl nodded enthusiastically, hurrying her onto his lap. He pressed her down earnestly into his crotch, and she could feel how hard he was already, straining against rough denim to feel her warm and wet around him.

There was something so off about him in this place, like all the confidence he'd amassed the last few days had flown out the window. But they were staying, at least for the night, and Abby had to make it okay for him. His lips were on her neck, suckling and nipping and humming against sensitive skin.

"What do you need?" she murmured, hoping he wouldn't misinterpret her sentiment as her calling him needy. And when he didn't answer, "How about we check a few of those 'nevers' off our list?"

That got his attention. He stopped what he was doing and pulled back to look her in the eye, his expression in between confusion and panic. "Depends which ones," he bit out.

He seemed nervous. So Abby was brave enough for the both of them, alcohol fueling the feeling. She hopped up off his lap and shifted around, then slowly lowered herself back on top of him, with her back to his front. She ground her ass softly into his growing hardness, relishing his groan. "_Shit_, Abby. You sure? Ain't gonna last that way."

"Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure," she said, moaning when his fingers crept around her body to grasp her by her neck. His grip was firm, but not painful. And if he needed this kind of control now, she'd give it to him. Suddenly, Daryl threw her up off his lap, and she might have fallen to the floor had he not grasped her by the waist, then spun her to face him.

"Strip," he commanded. His eyes were nearly black with arousal, watching her like a predator stalking its prey. And she did as he asked, eager to please him. But she took her time with it. She pulled her shirt up over her head gracefully, muscles rippling as she stretched upwards. And when she pulled down her shorts and panties, she turned her back to him, giving him a breathtaking view as she bent all the way forwards, leaving herself bare.

He was behind her in an instant, pushing her forwards, forcing her against the kitchen table so she was bent over and at his will. The powerful desperation in his movements was frightening her, but Abby wanted so badly to suppress whatever ghosts were haunting him. So she said nothing as he crushed her face down against the cool wood and held her there, or as he unsheathed his aching erection one-handed.

His cock was twitching with anticipation as he aligned himself with her core. He wanted to push inside of her again and again, not caring if her cries were from pain or pleasure. But then he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he froze.

It was an ashtray, or at least was being used as such. It was in the shape of a pink bikini, and his dad had found one just like it and brought it home when Daryl was only six. Daryl looked down at Abby. Her eyes were shut tightly, and her entire body was tense, as if she was anticipating pain.

He pulled her up until she was standing, and spun her back around. "Why would you let me…Abby, don't ever let me do that to you!" he growled.

She looked up at him with a small pout, and at that moment she seemed so small, breakable. "I thought it was what you needed."

"No, no…" he almost whimpered, running his fingers through her hair, "You're the only thing that keeps me from being _that_. Don't let me turn into that, Abby. _Please_."

_I don't want to be my dad. I can't be him. I need to get her away from me before I hurt her. Someday I'll lose control and I'll make her wish she was dead. I need to get the fuck out of here. _

Daryl was backing away from her, his expression tortured. But Abby wouldn't have that. She clutched him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back against him. "This place does something to you." He stared down at nothing at all, not wanting to hear her angelic voice soothing a piece of scum like him. "Daryl, tell me. You can tell me. I'm not going anywhere."

She rested her hands softly against his chest, imploring him to say something, anything. And when he finally met her eyes, the words stumbled out before he could think. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

Abby's eyes shimmered brightly, and she pulled him even closer. "Daryl, have you ever hurt a girl before? I mean really hurt her, hit her?"

He stared at her a moment. "No."

"So what makes you so sure you'll hurt me?"

He bit steadily at his thumb, then finally mumbled, "My dad."

_So that was it. His worst fear, most likely: becoming the man who'd beaten and degraded him for all of his childhood and adolescence. _"Daryl Dixon, you are nothing like your father. There isn't one bit of darkness inside of you, so you need to stop thinking that way. I know you'd never hurt me."

"I woulda done. Just now. I think…I think I _wanted_ to," Daryl said brokenly.

"But you stopped."

"I might not have, I-"

"But you did. You stopped yourself, because you're not _him_, Daryl. You're you. You're a good man." Abby reached up tentatively and let her hands hover over the top button of his shirt. He stared down at her for a beat, frozen, but she took it as permission. Slowly as ever, she unbuttoned his shirt, tracing circles on each centimeter of heated skin she revealed. She pushed his shirt and vest back over his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up, and he trembled under her gaze.

"Say it. You're not him," she demanded gently.

"I'm not him." Her mouth was on his collarbone, kissing wetly as she made her way south. She stopped briefly to flick her tongue back and forth over his nipples, making him moan a garbled version of her name. And she sank slowly to her knees, never breaking eye contact with him as she undid his jeans and pulled them down his body until they pooled on the floor. _Commando_. She'd never get tired of that.

"Again," Abby whispered, and Daryl felt the heat of her breath against his hardening length.

"I'm not him." She feathered kisses up the inside of his thighs, and his legs shook from the softness of it all. When she pressed a closed-mouth kiss to the tip of his cock, a hand shot out to the wall for support.

"Again."

"I'm not him," Daryl groaned, when he felt her tight, hot mouth encompass him. "I'm not him. I'm not- Oh fuck, oh Abby, fuck…" She sucked hard and bobbed her head slowly up and down his length.

Thirty seconds more, and he felt the faintest hint of teeth. Daryl threw his head back and moaned loudly, nearly plummeting over the edge. "Stop! Stop, please…" he whimpered, and pulsed at the wet pop when she pulled off of him.

Without waiting to catch his breath, he lifted her easily by the waist and placed her on the edge of the table, spreading her thighs for him. He stopped for a moment, looking at her quizzically, then dropped to his knees in front of her. _Oh._

Daryl watched her face carefully as he kissed the inside of her leg, then threw it over his shoulder. He could do this. It couldn't be that different than kissing, right? When his tongue made contact with her clit, she gasped and her legs tightened around his neck. He figured that was a good sign; but more importantly, she even _tasted_ good. Somehow, he'd known she would.

With the flat of his tongue, Daryl lapped at her greedily, taking conscious note of ever needy noise she made as he brought her closer to release. He sucked hard on her throbbing nub, and she fell back wards onto her elbows, letting out a high-pitched moan.

"Daryl," she whimpered, with a twinge of fear on her voice. Her entire body was bucking and shivering, and she knew she was on the verge of a powerful orgasm. But hearing Abby call his name so desperately only spurred him to suck harder. A moment of inspiration struck, and Daryl plunged two fingers into her core, curling them upwards to rub her sweet spot. And Abby came with a howl, his name shrieked with a slew of curse words as her body buckled and convulsed for him.

No longer able to wait, Daryl was immediately on his feet and sinking into her wetness. She was still throbbing intermittently, and he moved against her with deep, forceful strokes, already so close to release he could feel it in the balls of his feet, shooting up his spine.

"Tell me, tell me, fuck just tell me," he babbled semi-incoherently, slamming into her.

"Yours, I'm yours," she moaned breathlessly, grasping onto him for dear life. Impossibly, she was already building towards release. She could feel a coil of white-hot arousal tightening in her belly, threatening to explode. "Shit, Daryl. I think I'm gonna- I'm-"

And then she was coming again, coming so hard that her vision went white and her entire body seized up into a burning ball of joy. Her pussy clenched down on him with nearly enough strength to force him out. But seeing her come apart under him, Daryl finally let go. He came breathlessly, choking out gasps of Abby's name as his entire body shook with pleasure.

After a minute, he lifted her seamlessly and carried her over to the armchair, draping her across his chest. The fell simultaneously into an exhausted, sated sleep. But before Daryl allowed his drowsiness to win him over, one coherent thought resonated through his mind. _I love her._


	10. Part 10

_**Alright guys, he's a shorter chapter to tide you over for the weekend. The words just sort of funneled right out of my fingers while I was at work. Couldn't contain it, so I figured I'd share it :) Please review!**_

**Part Ten**

_Mama's sleepin' again. She's on the couch and her mouth's hangin' open with her cigarette just beggin' to fall down onto her chest and burn her. Small hands remove it carefully from between her lips, and dump it into the pink bikini pot that dad brought home last month. She smells bad. Like sweat, and puke, and that sweet 'n sour smell that Daryl's six-year-old nose now identifies as booze. _

_The front door slams, and Daryl rushes towards the back of the house. Merle's in juvie again, and with mama sleepin' there isn't anyone around to face Will Dixon but him. Maybe if he climbs in bed, he'll look like he's sleepin' too. Daryl knows it won't stop him, but he tries it anyways._

_"__Daryl, get your lazy ass out here!"_

_He pulls the covers up and over his head, hoping that if he can't see dad, then dad can't see him. But even if the lumpy blanket had managed to disguise his small body, the quivering of the sheets was a dead giveaway. His dad bursts through the door and Daryl holds his breath. Heavy, stumbling footsteps pound towards him and the blanket is suddenly ripped away._

_"__Thought I taught you to come when you're called, you little shit."_

_And then he's being pulled by his hair out into the hallway, out all the way to the living room where his mama is still layin' there. He wants to call out to her, wants to scream for help, but he knows it won't help. Mostly, he just wants his mama to open her eyes, 'cuz from where he's laying on the floor, it don't look like she's breathin', and he's getting scared. _

_Knuckles connect with his face, and he reels backwards into the wall, biting down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. _

_"__Look at the state of your mama, couldn't bother to clean her up some while I was out?"_

_Another blow, to his guts this time. He can already feel his left eye swelling shut. Dad hasn't learned yet to hit him in places that don't show. He doesn't go to school too regularly these days, so it doesn't matter if he's walking around with a shiner for the rest of the week. _

_"__M'sorry," Daryl mumbles, but apparently that isn't what Will Dixon wants to hear. A fist grasps him by his dirty blonde hair and slams his head back into the wall. For a moment, his vision goes black, and there's ringing in his ears. But then he hears the familiar clank of dad's belt coming unlatched, and he starts to shake uncontrollably. _

It was still dark out, the first peals of sunlight not yet shattering the eerie calm of the night. And they should have both been sleeping, soundly, after the raucous night they'd had. But instead Abby had been awoken by the soft whimpering of the man underneath her. His face kept contorting in pain, and his whole body was shaking. Another nightmare.

Abby reached up a hand to gently stroke his hair, trying to lull him. "Shh, you're okay, Daryl. Everything's okay."

More whimpering, then a choked out grunt as if he'd been struck.

"Daryl, you're alright. I'm right here, you're safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you. You're safe, Daryl. Shh."

_"__It's okay, Daryl. You're gonna be okay."_

_The voice sounded like an angel, and he wanted to concentrate on it, but the heady lashes of the belt kept blotting out his vision with blinding pain. _

_"__Shh, you're okay. You're safe."_

_Another lash, this one cutting deep enough that he was sure it hit bone._

_"__Everything's okay. I'm right here."_

_He was starting to think the voice was all in his head, but then she came into view. She seemed to radiate light, with her bronze and gold hair, and her silver eyes. Her hair looked so soft, everything about her looked soft really, and he wanted to get up and touch her, but he hurt so bad he didn't think he could walk. She looked so familiar. He wished she would come closer._

_"__Leave him alone," the angel half-said half-sang, and abruptly the pain stopped. His dad was stood stock-still in front of him, belt still in hand, but the angel had a hand on dad's arm and he wasn't hurting him anymore. "No more," the angel murmured. And then Will Dixon was gone, vanished from the room, as was his mama. _

_She crouched in front of him, real slow, as not to frighten him, and ran her fingers through his hair. It didn't hurt anymore. None of it hurt, not with her here._

_"__Hush now," she sang to him, "You're safe now. Go to sleep." And though he tried his best to keep his eyes open, stare at her just a moment longer, it wasn't long before he dutifully complied._

The shaking had abated, and Daryl's expression had calmed. Content that whatever villain he'd faced was now behind him, Abby settled back into Daryl's embrace and fell back asleep herself.

It might have been a minute later, and it might have been hours, but Allie awoke to warm lips against hers, and hands drawing her in close. To Daryl, it had been only seconds. One minute Abby was an angel lighting his nightmare, _saving him_. And then the next Abby was somehow there, lying across his lap and fast asleep and he just couldn't help but kiss her.

Neither was fully awake yet, but to Daryl it didn't matter. The desire to touch her was overwhelming. _To thank her?_ He couldn't be sure. Their mouths moved in tandem, soon tongues as well, and then he was lying backwards over the arm of the chair with Abby strewn across his lap. They were still perfectly bare from the night before, a habit they'd need to break now that they were on the road again. But in the current circumstance, he couldn't have been happier.

Daryl's silky hardness was trapped between their bodies, slowly thrusting as he kissed every inch of skin his mouth could reach. His hands were everywhere, stroking and caressing, memorizing her form. Had Abby been more awake, she might have found a word for what this was. _Worship_. But nonetheless, her body was responding faster than her brain. Her nipples hardened, goose bumps exploded across her back, and soon her hips were undulating against him, searching instinctively for friction.

"Need you," Daryl rasped into her ear, "Please, Abby…"

"Shh," she murmured back, "I'm right here." The words resonated straight from his dream, and suddenly he couldn't contain himself. He pulled at her hips until he slipped deliciously inside her. Daryl's head fell forward onto her shoulders and they both let out a breathy, surprised moan at the sharp burst of pleasure.

"You saved me," he breathed, now fully seated inside of her. And before Abby could ask what he meant, he jerked his hips upwards, drawing another protracted moan from the angel above him.

They set a slow, toe-curling pace together. His hips bucked upwards to meet hers as she ground herself onto his length. Her clit rubbed deliciously against his pelvic bone from this angle, and it wasn't long before she was tumbling over the edge into oblivion, boneless and breathless. Daryl watched her fixedly as she came, his face a mask of awe. His nails bit into his own thigh with the effort to keep control.

Still over-sensitive from her orgasm, Abby jerked and moaned when she felt Daryl rub two fingers across her clit.

"_Daryl,_" she groaned, "…too much." Her whole body was shaking with pleasure that bordered on pain.

He cupped her cheek with his free hand, bringing her head back to look at him. "Do it again for me," he whispered. He _begged_. And her body obeyed readily. The desperate affection in his voice and his eyes and his hands set her off with a bang, and she coiled hot as lava around him. The tortuous pulsing and squeezing did him in, as well. Daryl shouted out his release, throwing his head back and shaking down to his toes with forceful bliss. And in his mind, as pleasure exploded through him, _I love you I love you I love you._

It was quite some time before either could move again. And neither minded much, with Daryl still wedged snugly into her warmth. "Hungover?" Abby mumbled into his chest.

He sighed. "A bit…sorry I was a dick last night. I get like that sometimes, when I drink."

"You weren't so bad," Abby argued lightly. "Hey…what happened just now?"

"Think they call it sex." Abby smacked him in the chest and he grinned boyishly. "Alright! I get it. I was uh…havin' this nightmare..."

"I know," Abby cut him off, and he gave her a confused look. "It woke me up. I tried to talk to you while you were sleeping, calm you down."

Daryl huffed out a breath incredulously. "Well…it worked. In my dream, my dad was…but then you were there. Ya made him stop." His hands absentmindedly traced her scar.

Abby waited silently, patiently, for Daryl to go on.

"When I was little, Merle was in juvie a lot. So it was just me and my mom and dad. If she was passed out, and that was a helluva lot of the time, he'd go for me. No fun beatin' someone who ain't awake, I guess." Abby propped her chin on his chest when he paused, and he looked down at her warily, then laced his fingers into her hair. "Was better when she was passed out I think. 'Cuz when she wasn't, he'd go after her first. And he'd make me watch when he…" Daryl let out a shaky breath.

"Where is she now?" Abby asked him softly.

"Dead."

His eyes wandered out across the room, taking in the bits and pieces that resounded so strongly with his past. Abby could see him getting lost in a memory again.

"This place, it's who you were. Not who you are," she said pointedly, and his eyes re-focused on hers. "You need to leave this place behind."

"What if I can't?" he rasped, toying with her hair.

"You _have_ to. Or it kills you. Here," she placed her hand over his heart, feeling the way his heartbeat picked up when she touched him.

Abruptly, she gave him a toothy smile. "Let's burn it down."

Daryl's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me. Let's burn it down." Abby was sitting up now, grinning ridiculously broadly, and he was staring at her like he had a chupacabra in his lap.

His eyes grazed over the shack. "We're gonna need more moonshine," he finally said, and Abby hopped up onto her feet joyously.


	11. Part 11

_**I hope you guys are enjoying all the smutty, fluffy goodness, because I can say with 100% certainty that it cannot last forever! I think Daryl and Abby are hitting a point where they can take on more of the world, and I'm excited to see what happens. I hope y'all are too! Read and review please x**_

**Part Eleven**

It was another day's walk into the wilderness before they found anywhere remotely suitable to settle. By some lucky stroke of fate, the woods were relatively walker-less for their journey. Daryl commented that they probably were attracted to the fire; and they were miles from that old moonshine shack now. In other circumstances, a hike into the unknown might have made Abby nervous. She didn't know a whole lot about tracking, or about the wilderness in general. But Daryl made her feel…safe. Just plain, old safe. It was a feeling she wasn't accustomed to, and she wasn't ready to let it go.

If Abby hadn't known Daryl to be a reluctant teacher, she might have thought he was enjoying this. Stopping every now and again to talk about animal tracks, or edible plants, or moss on trees. The corner of his mouth would quirk upwards when she'd nod attentively, and make awestruck comments about how damn _much_ he knows about surviving. Abby could fight. She'd proved it when she was a teenager, then time and time again as the apocalypse trudged onwards. But Daryl was a natural in this world. It was impressive, and humbling, but also somewhat horrifying. Abby couldn't help but wonder how often he'd been forced to fend for himself as a child, wandering through the woods in search of food.

And then they found their little cabin in the woods, with as miraculous a cast to their discovery as had been the moonshine shack. It wasn't long before they surmised it had a working gas stove, and running water from the well out back. The pantry appeared to be relatively untouched, and the house itself was vacant. It was perfect.

"We could set up here for a while," Daryl remarked, settling down on the couch in the living room. The layout was open and clean, walls lined minimally with some books, a couple sets of antlers, and some old photos of the countryside. The outside was composed of thick logs and red brick. Everything sang of sturdiness and fortitude.

Abby plopped down on the couch beside Daryl. "We really could stay here," she murmured.

Daryl grunted contentedly. "I think, if I'd ever been able to buy myself a house, it would have been just like this," Daryl said, mostly to himself.

"Way out in the middle of the woods?" Abby teased.

"Hell, that's the best part."

"You trying to avoid human contact, Mr. Dixon?"

He gave her a sidelong look. "Was never too good with people."

"You're good with me."

His fingers stroked tentatively through her hair, then cupped her cheek with more confidence as he composed his answer. "That's different."

Abby smiled at him softly and craned her neck to kiss him on the cheek. He blushed lightly at the gesture, and Abby reveled in her ability to garner that sort of reaction from him. But when he began to reach for her with his other hand, he winced and hissed a short breath.

"What was that?"

"S'nothin'."

Abby cocked an eyebrow at him. Right arm, right side…the crossbow, had to be. He'd been carrying it for hours, a good ten of them without any rest. Abby sighed, "You don't have to hide that from me. If you're hurting, I need to know. I can't help otherwise." _Then again, of course he thinks he has to hide it. He's been conditioned to do so._

Daryl rotated his right shoulder experimentally, grimacing steadily. "Ain't much worse than usual. Nothin' to be done about it." When you've been whipped by a belt, had an arrow through your stomach, and tumbled over the side of a cliff, a little muscle ache was hardly something to complain about.

"I'll have to disagree with you there," Abby said, getting up. She disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the faint clambering of pots, the splash of water, and about ten minutes later she emerged looking exceptionally cheerful, the front of her shirt soaking wet.

"You been swimmin'?" he grinned.

"No…c'mon," she dragged a bemused Daryl up by his good arm and led him through to the back of the house, where she proudly displayed to him a bathtub filled with soapy, hot water.

"Ya made me a bubble bath?" Daryl asked, dipping a finger to the water.

"Made _us_ a bubble bath," Abby corrected. But Daryl could see through the rouse. He didn't need to be coddled, no matter how large a part of him actually enjoyed it.

"Didn't need to do all this for me," Daryl said.

Abby pulled him into a hug, tipping her head back to look him in the eye. "Of course I didn't need to. I _wanted_ to." He looked down at her warily, the prospect that this was a joke still in the back of his mind. "And you better get used to it, Daryl. If you're going to spend all your time protecting me, and feeding me, and leading me to safety, then you're going to have to learn to let me pamper you a bit at the end of the day."

Daryl nodded thoughtfully. It seemed fair, at least. A trade. And even though he knew that Abby didn't want him to think about their arrangement that way, it felt good to know she was getting something out of this too. Daryl dipped his head down and pressed his lips to Abby's forehead, surprising them both. He'd never kissed a girl there before. He'd seen other people do it, couples around town, and it always seemed so…intimate. He had never really understood why people wanted to do it to begin with, but the thought of it made him cringe. _Now_, he understood though. It was a gesture of…well, _love_. He wondered if Abby thought the same.

When he opened his eyes, Abby was beaming up at him, and he felt his body go warm under her gaze.

"How about I help you out of these clothes, Mr. Dixon?" She phrased it as a statement, but he heard the question in her voice. No matter how many times he touched her, no matter how many times he let her touch him, she knew she needed his permission.

He nodded briskly and settled back against the sink, watching her fingers move slowly over each button. There was a mirror behind him, and when Abby pushed his vest and shirt back off of his shoulders, he knew she could see his scars. But it didn't bother him much right now. Not when she was trailing her fingertips tantalizingly over his pecs, stroking back and forth over each of his nipples and watching them harden.

She dipped her head down to kiss a scar that extended across his sternum, and he sucked in a breath. His jeans were already tenting from her slight touches, feather-light and teasing in a way he never would have tolerated before her. In his old life, a light touch was a tease, and a tease bordered too closely on ridicule, rejection. But he knew Abby wouldn't turn away from him, so he let himself enjoy her.

"It always hurt before," Daryl breathed out in a faint whisper. His eyes shot open when he realized he'd said it aloud, but Abby didn't stop kissing along his collar bone.

"What did?"

He wanted to disappear into the wall behind him. But an equal part of him wanted her to understand. So he went with the side that was less of a pussy. "When someone…anyone…would touch my chest, or my back…it'd always hurt. Even if they weren't doin' nothin' to hurt me. But…it doesn't hurt when you do it."

Abby stopped her ministrations and looked up at him. "Why do you think that is?"

He took a lock of her hair and slowly wound it between two fingers. Soft, everything about her was always so soft. "Guess I must trust you."

She smiled, and he knew that was the right answer. But it was also the _true_ answer, and that thought alone had him reeling. He felt Abby push off of him, then watched her strip naked and sink slowly into the tub, sighing breathily at the sensation.

"Come on," she murmured melodically towards him, and he took a step towards her, lips pursing together when she didn't move forward so he could slip in behind her.

"Ain't it supposed to be the other way around?" He didn't look pleased.

"You need to be in front," she explained, "Can't work out that shoulder, otherwise."

Daryl let out an exaggerated sigh, shucked his remaining clothing, and lowered himself into the bathtub. He flinched, and cursed himself inwardly, when she first touched his back. "It's just me. I'll never hurt you," he thought he heard Abby murmur, though it might have been his mind filling in the gaps. But with calculated poise, he slowly relaxed into her touch, willing his body to go limp in her arms.

"It's getting easier, isn't it? Letting me touch you like this?"

Daryl softly murmured his agreement, groaning every so often as her fingers worked at his sore shoulders. She was right though, it _was_ getting easier. Prolonged exposure to her gentle, nurturing hands had him not just prepared for her unexpected touches, but craving them. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted her to touch him _all the damn time_. Not just below the belt. And not only when they were in bed. But anytime and anywhere, greedily taking everything she offered him.

He felt small slivers of guilt spring forth from the back of his mind. _The rest of my family is either dead or nearly there, why should I be feelin' good?_ Even if they were all fine, even if they'd never existed at all, why should he get to have something so _good_? _Dixons don't deserve nice things. _There was something wrong with them, his dad had always said as much. But then again, Abby didn't seem to think so. Abby looked at him and spoke to him and touched him as if there was nothing wrong with him at all, no blackness marring his soul.

Daryl wanted desperately to believe her; but allowing himself to want anything at all was such a stretch for him that he held his desire at a distance, refusing to acknowledge it. She'd told him she was his. She'd said she would never leave. But one thing Will Dixon had been right about was that people lie. They all do it all the time, every last one of them. _She's not lying; she's not. But what if she's telling the truth, and I lose her anyways?_

When the incessant toggling of Daryl's unkempt mind came to a halt, he couldn't be sure how long Abby had been rubbing his back. At some point, he'd slumped back against Abby's chest, head lolling to the side between her breasts, eyes falling shut. The pain had been just under the surface, barely concealed by her loving touches, but then it was gone. _She really is an angel._

The water was still warm and silken around them. "What'd you do…ya know, before?" Daryl suddenly asked her.

"I was a nurse," Abby replied simply.

He smiled to himself, "Shoulda guessed that. When you gave me those stitches I hardly felt it."

"That might have been because you were high," Abby laughed.

"Psh, wasn't _that_ high," he scoffed back. Her hands descended lazily down his chest, caressing tightly-wound muscle and scarred skin.

"Oh, I think you were," she murmured, "But I have to say, I liked you like that." He felt her scratch lightly at his thighs, and his body thrummed hotly in response.

"Why's that?" he rasped.

"Well it was simpler, wasn't it? With you laying there and letting me make you feel good, trusting me without knowing a thing about me." Her fingers circled his already hard cock, and began to stroke slowly. "It's why I felt like I could do it to begin with. You let me take the lead with all of it, and it was just so damn _sexy_."

"You findin' me was just about the best thing to ever happen to me. Wasn't about to fuck it up," he breathed out in a rush. _Shit, did I say that out loud?_

"Best thing, huh?" She punctuated the question by swiping her thumb over the head of his cock, and his hips jerked upwards involuntarily, a small whimper escaping his lips.

"And_ that_," she practically moaned, her hand tightening and speeding up. "You make the sexiest noises, you know that? And when I first had you on that couch, you didn't hold them back at all. Don't think you could." Daryl couldn't help but let out a groan at that, shivering when he felt her lips on the crook of his neck.

She could see the muscles in his stomach tightening, and feel the way his cock was throbbing relentlessly in her hand. Abby twisted the palm of her hand around his head, and his body bowed forward. "Abby," he groaned desperately, "Ya gotta stop. Gonna cum."

"Well, that was the idea," she whispered in his ear, her tone all gravel and honey.

"Want…want you…please…Abby," he panted, trying and failing to writhe away from her firm stroking. He was dangerously close to losing control, and he wanted so badly for them to lose it together.

"Alright, alright," Abby relented, releasing him and allowing him to climb out of the tub gracelessly. Impatience getting the better of him, he lifted her effortlessly by the waist and perched her on the edge of the sink.

He was painfully hard, twitching in anticipation, but the sight of her made him falter.

"What?" Abby whined, when he didn't immediately take her.

He bit back a grin. "Eager 'lil thing…love that," he murmured, but his eyes were all over her body still, hands hanging hesitantly above her waist. Abby's heart skipped a beat at his choice of words, but he seemed too mesmerized to have noticed. "Should have ya like this all the time…" he mumbled to himself.

"Naked and wet?"

Daryl heaved out a groan, "Shit, I'd never get anything done."

He gripped her thighs with two strong hands and sunk into her in a rush, moaning loudly when he felt her silky heat surround him. The position reminded him of the first time, something like losing control and gaining it all at once. But being with Abby was different now. He rocked against her and it felt like sliding home.

Abby's whimpers were muffled as her lips descended down his neck, then across his collarbone. She flicked her tongue over a hardened nipple, then bit lightly at it, and Daryl thrust into her hard, nails biting into her thighs to keep from coming.

"Do that again," he growled with a strained voice. And Abby easily complied, biting and suckling at either nipple, and watching the muscles in his neck and chest ripple with pleasured pain. When she pulled back to assess his reaction, he latched his mouth to hers, one hand snaking between them to rub her sweet spot.

"Fuck!" she squealed, locking her ankles behind him to pull him closer. He was rutting against her frantically now, fingers a blur as he pushed her towards release.

"Gotta cum for me, Abby," he groaned, "Ain't gonna last." And right on cue, her body tightened around him, then snapped, pulsing violently until both of them were shaking. She shouted his name like a benediction when she came, and he thought it was about the best thing he'd ever heard.

Daryl gripped the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white, teetering on the edge. But there was something missing, something unspoken, that was keeping the spider-webs of blind pleasure from taking hold. He met Abby's eyes and she smiled softly at him, hands lacing into her hair as he continued to buck against her. She could nearly hear the beg that was anxious to slip from his lips.

"I'm yours," she murmured, "Just yours. Always." He slammed into her, twice more, _hard_, before his stomach seized up.

Everything in his body tightened, and when he pressed his lips urgently to Abby's, his world came crashing down. Not even their kiss could stifle his moan, the blissful benediction that shined through his eyes as he poured into her. Never had he been more thankful for a well-timed kiss, as when a muffled "_love you"_ was simultaneously released. But if she'd understood his garbled moan, she didn't let on. Instead Abby raked her nails lightly up and down his back, calming him.

Eventually, Daryl carried Abby through the house and to the bedroom, insisting this time that they both get dressed before slipping between the covers. He didn't hesitate before invading Abby's side of the bed and wrapping himself around her. He could feel her relaxing against him, nearly asleep already. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many he_ needed_ to say. But instead, he settled for a whispered "G'night."


	12. Part 12

_**Sorry for the wait, y'all! This is a bit of a long one, but I think we're getting into some more exciting material. Everyone ready to see Abby and Daryl take on the world? I know I am. Please review!**_

**Part Twelve**

When Daryl woke abruptly sometime past midnight, it was not from a nightmare. Abby was still soundly asleep beside him, curled into his side. Daryl hadn't opened his eyes yet, focusing on the warmth of Abby's body next to his, listening attentively to the house and the woods surrounding them. But the hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up, and something was very wrong. He could hear breathing, and it wasn't his or Abby's.

A man, very much alive, was standing motionlessly at the end of the bed, staring down at them. Daryl didn't need to open his eyes to know he was there, he could sense the presence. His crossbow was in easy reach, but he had Abby to protect. With one hand already under his pillow, supporting his head, his fingers curled around the hilt of his hunting knife.

Daryl sprung up from his feigned repose and lunged at the man without a second thought, he had to put his body between Abby and this intruder. "Who the fuck are you?!" He knew that his sudden scream would likely scare the crap out of her, but getting this guy away from her was too important.

The man had a knife hanging from his belt and he tried to reach for it, but Daryl was already posed above him, knife at his throat. He threw the man's weapon across the room.

"Answer my question, asshole, or I'll fuckin' slit your throat!" Daryl growled, "Who the _fuck_ are you and what the _fuck_ are you doin' here?"

The man looked to be in his fifties, with grayish white hair and deep wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. He had a bit of a beer belly, and wore a pinstripe button-down shirt and khaki slacks, like a business executive on casual Friday.

"Wait, _wait!_" the man cried, "I wasn't going to do anything, I swear. I was just coming home to meet my wife." He sounded desperate, and afraid.

"Well I don't see her anywhere buddy, so you best me moving on," Daryl rumbled threateningly.

"But you don't understand. This is our home! I _have_ to meet her here."

"The _fuck_ it is," Daryl snarled.

Abby was huddled in the far corner of the bed. Knife in hand, just in case, watching the exchange.

"No, no, you don't get it. Look! On the nightstand! Look at the picture! It's us! Me and my wife," the man pleaded, directing his request in Abby's direction. She grabbed the photo he was motioning to and flicked on her lighter, inspecting it closely.

"Daryl, he's not lying," she said with sureness. "It's him in the photo."

Daryl's eyes bounced from Abby back to the man underneath him. "Don't explain why you were watchin' us sleep."

"I- I was just confused, is all. My wife and I were going to meet here and when I saw you two in our bed, I wasn't sure what to do. I can't exactly sleep outside with the dead wandering about. But I don't know you people! I didn't want to wake you up and have you attack me, or have you find me here in the morning and kill me then. I just…I couldn't decide…"

"Daryl," Abby called softly, "You can let him up."

The archer didn't look all too pleased, but he trusted her instincts as well as his own. She was more of a 'people person' than he'd ever be, as it was. So he stood back and allowed the old man to get to his feet.

Abby came to sit at the end of the bed, sticking as close to Daryl as she could manage. "What's your name?" she asked him.

"Jackson Belfleur, ma'am."

"How long have you and your wife lived here?"

Jackson smiled wistfully, "Since just after we were married. We stayed here after the turn as well, right up until a few weeks ago. Herd came through and we took off together, expecting to come on back home when things had cleared up."

"And where's your wife now?"

"I told her I'd come back first, to check if it's safe. And so long as I didn't come right back and tell her it wasn't, she was going to meet me tomorrow night." Jackson looked between the man and woman he'd found sleeping in his bed, eyes beseeching, but he settled back on Abby when Daryl met him with a scowl. "Ma'am, please. This has been our home for years. Me and Darcy, we're happy to share it with y'all. Just don't ask us to leave."

Daryl sighed raggedly, and felt Abby's hand on the back of his forearm, reassuring him. "We would never ask that, Jackson. We assumed when we found it empty that it had been that way for a while. But if you're happy to have us here, Daryl and I would be more than happy to share."

Jackson gave her a small smile, looking relieved. "Much obliged, ma'am. Is it alright with the both of y'all if I take the couch tonight?"

"Of course!" Abby exclaimed kindly. "Are you sure you don't want your bed back? It's your house, after all."

"Not at all, ma'am. It's nice to see a young couple like yourselves getting some enjoyment out of it. I imagine you two have been on the road for quite a while." He looked to Daryl and held out his hand, "Sir, I do appreciate your willingness to make this work."

Warily, Daryl shook his hand, stepping deftly between Abby and Jackson in the process. Jackson nodded politely to both of them then excused himself to the living room.

"I don't like this," Daryl immediately growled.

"I know," Abby murmured, "But we can't just kick him out."

"The hell we can't."

"Daryl, he was telling the truth. Just look at the photo."

She held it out to him, and sure enough Jackson was standing beside a good looking woman, with a huge grin on his face, and his arm around her shoulder. But Daryl frowned down at the photo. The woman standing beside Jackson had grayish blue eyes and long, wavy, dirty blonde hair. She had a broad smile and pearly white skin, and she looked a hell of a lot like Abby. Daryl said nothing about this, placing the picture back on the nightstand.

"We should get some sleep," he said softly.

Abby agreed easily, slipping back beneath the covers while Daryl checked the lock on the door, then propped a chair underneath the knob.

"Will that keep him from coming in?" Abby asked quietly.

"Nah, but it'd slow him down." He regretted his reply immediately when worry danced over Abby's features. He reached out to her and pulled Abby onto his chest, burying his face in her hair. "Ain't gonna let anything happen to ya, just get some sleep."

Somehow Daryl had conquered the fine line between soothing and authoritative, and Abby's breathing quickly evened out, as she fell asleep on top of him. Daryl didn't sleep though. Not for a single second. He stared at the door for the rest of the night, knife clutched in his spare hand.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"You two remind me of me and my wife when we were first married," Jackson remarked happily the next morning, as they feasted on pancakes and fruit.

Daryl was just about dead on his feet at the crack of dawn, having not slept a wink the night before, but not so loopy that he didn't reel slightly at the statement.

Abby glanced worriedly towards Daryl, who was continuously frowning at the newcomer. "How's that?" she asked politely.

"Oh you know, touchin' each other all the time, sendin' those little looks across the table every few minutes, young love and all that," Jackson responded.

Abby cringed at Jackson's choice of words, but found herself surprised when Daryl remained expressionless, face calm as ever despite Jackson's prodding. She'd given a good deal of thought to how she felt about Daryl, especially in these last few days of running, scouting, and fighting. There was still some part of her nagging constantly that there were _rules_ to this sort of thing. You can't just go telling people you love them all willy-nilly. It's supposed to be a slow thing, something that happens after months of knowing someone, years even.

But then, what about the way a mother falls in love with her infant, just out of the womb? Maybe falling in love with a man is just like that, a cold splash of water on a hot summer's day, surprising and relieving and exhilarating all at the same time. Maybe she had no reason at all to be ashamed of the things she'd wanted to say to Daryl over the last couple of weeks. And maybe she should count Daryl's neutral reaction to Jackson's choice of words as a blessing.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Abby became lost in her own thoughts, and Daryl simply refused to answer the man.

Abby stood up unsteadily, "Going to go wash up real quick," she muttered, backing out of the room.

Daryl ate his pancakes with his hands, utterly unwilling to daintily cut the pastries into neat little squares.

"So how long have you two been together?" Jackson asked, breaking the milieu.

"A while," Daryl said shortly.

"Gettin' ready to pop the question then, I bet?" Jackson laughed, but his smile didn't reach his eyes, and Daryl took notice. He looked hard at Jackson's mouth. There were lines around the corners of his lips, but they weren't the kind you get from years of smiling. They were frown lines.

"So what if I am?" Daryl ground out, tensing.

Jackson chewed slowly, swallowed, then placed his fork and knife on the kitchen table deliberately. He met Daryl's eyes, pupil's gleaming wide and dark, "Oh, I'd do it soon, son. Or someone else might snatch her up." His voice was lifeless and atonal.

Daryl glared at him for a moment, then remembered Abby in the next room, and stood up from the table. "Takin' her hunting, we'll be back later." He was out the door and searching out Abby before the old southerner could respond.

The two of them walked in silence until they were a safe distance from the cabin, Abby looking carefully over at Daryl intermittently.

"You don't trust him," she said. A statement.

"Nope."

"Why's that?"

"Just get a bad vibe." Daryl's eyes remained fixed on the ground, tracking some sort of animal as they walked.

"Daryl," Abby began, and his eyes shot up to meet hers, "You're sure?"

"I ain't usually wrong about that sorta thing." _Please believe me. Need to keep you safe._

Abby nodded thoughtfully, "Okay, so we'll leave. He can have his cabin, with his wife, and we'll find someplace else. I mean, we found this place, there have to be others like it."

"You'd do that?" _Why's it feel like I'm takin' something away from her?_

"I trust your instincts," Abby replied, and Daryl's chest puffed out with pride. There was something about the way Abby spoke to him that made him feel so alive, like a real _man_, who could protect his own.

"Tomorrow mornin', then? We'll go?"

Abby leaned up on her tip-toes and pecked Daryl's cheek. "Sure. Tomorrow it is."

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

As they made their way deeper into the woods, Daryl seemed to relax more and more with each mile trekked. Abby even caught him grinning, on several occasions, when she managed to correctly identify some tracks. If it hadn't been so late in the day already, she might have suggested they camp out the night, sleep in the woods and never return to the cabin. But the sun was low in the sky, and they had a slew of squirrels and a couple of rabbits slung over their shoulders, and it really wouldn't be safe to stay outside when they were so bloodied up.

Daryl led her expertly back towards the cabin, somehow remembering every twist and turn of the forest until the house was within their sights. They came around the back of the house, passing by the bedroom window on their way inside. And what he saw in his periphery made him stop in his tracks.

Jackson was standing at the foot of the bed, holding several pieces of clothing in his hands. _Abby's clothing_. And from where Daryl was standing, he could clearly see the lavender twinge of her bra. Daryl was storming through the house before Abby could make a move to stop him, slamming doors in his wake.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" he growled, bursting into the bedroom.

Jackson wasn't startled by his sudden outburst. Instead, he turned around slowly to face the angry hunter, staring him down for a good few seconds until Abby came running into the room as well. He wanted an audience, it seemed. "Oh, I just wanted to do some laundry for y'all. Figured it was the least I could do to help out, with the two of you goin' out and huntin' and all that." The old man flashed them a kindly smile, and Daryl could feel Abby relaxing at his side.

"Oh, that's so nice of you, Jackson!" Abby said with a relieved tone, "Why don't you let me help you, now that we're back?"

Daryl nearly let a full-blown growl of possessiveness escape him.

_The fuck is she thinking goin' off with him? Asshole is probably just itchin' to get her alone. Thought she was with me when I said I didn't trust this guy. Why can't she see it?_

"Well that is might kind of you, ma'am, why dontcha c'mon with me and I'll show ya what's what," Jackson drawled. _Fuck you! I'll fucking kill you, you cocksucking son of a bitch!_

Abby looked back at Daryl tentatively, and he let out a small sigh. "Imma butcher up the meat." He looked between Jackson and his girl one last time. "Don't go far," he mumbled, watching the two of them leave the room.

Though Abby preferred to work in silence, Jackson seemed uncomfortable with the idea. His idle chatter filled the back room of the cabin, and despite the rudeness, she eventually tuned him out entirely. Maybe it was in her mind, but she thought she could feel his eyes on her as she worked. And it was not a pleasant sensation.

"Seems an odd match, you and that boy," Jackson said after a few minutes, "Pretty girl like you with some backwoods redneck."

Abby cringed, and her fingernails bit into her palm in the effort it took to stay calm. "You might be surprised," Abby said shortly, her best effort at being polite.

"Oh, I doubt that. Boy like that wouldn't know what to do with a woman like you, pretty as y'are. Pretty girls are a hot commodity these days. Need a real man to take care of ya."

Abby glared at him from beneath her lashes. "_Daryl_ is all I need."

"Yeah, we'll haveta see 'bout that…" Jackson muttered, apparently to himself.

Having failed to engage her, the pair eventually delved into quiet.

"Could you pass me the soap, Darcy?" Jackson murmured, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain.

Abby's eyes widened and her pulse jumped, but she stayed silent. Instead, she noiselessly picked up the soap and handed it over to him. Jackson never as much as looked up. It was only a few moments more before she stood awkwardly, mumbling about having to take care of feminine business, then excused herself to the other end of the cabin, searching out Daryl.

She couldn't explain it, didn't want to acknowledge it really, but Abby quite suddenly felt intrinsically unsafe. _Daryl was right. _And Abby knew what she needed immediately. Something about his gruff assuredness always put her instantly at ease. Even when he was fumbling to communicate with her, and second-guessing every last word and movement he made, he always managed to be exactly what she needed. Compliant when she needed control, controlling when she needed reassurance, possessive when she needed to feel cared for.

He was easy enough to find, sitting on the porch skinning his kills and muttering all the while. She stopped behind him for a moment, listening through the screen door.

_"__Can't trust that guy…why can't she ever listen...ain't safe… damn girl…"_

Abby couldn't help but smile, watching him stab at the rabbits in frustration. The door squeaked when she pushed it open, alerting Daryl to her presence, and the hunter visibly startled.

He gave her a surprised, vaguely impressed look, "Think you're the first person to sneak up on me since I was in grade school."

But Abby didn't respond. Instead, she smiled softly and knelt beside him, pushing his shoulders back and pressing her lips to his in one smooth movement. She needed to feel this. _Him._ Safe. And Daryl responded immediately, lips moving with hers. His bloody hands were clenched at his sides; he didn't want to dirty her up like that. She deserved to be clean, his very own angel, at least every once in a while.

Daryl pulled back for air, chest already heaving at the sudden burst of arousal passing through him, "Abby, what's goin' on?"

"Nothing," she murmured, dipping her head forward again. She fisted the collar of his shirt and pushed their chests together, her tongue gently massaging his.

Daryl pulled back again, recognizing her lie easily enough. "C'mon, Abby, what is it?"

She gave him a long look. "Just…missed you," she replied in a small, uncertain voice, and any wariness Daryl was harboring melted away. _There's something wrong with that man. I should have listened to you._ Daryl knew there was something else, something under the surface, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

Daryl gave her a wry grin, "Maybe I oughta go huntin' on my own, so you can miss me s'more."

Abby passed back a relieved smile, and pressed herself into him again, letting her lips and tongue become fully engulfed in the sure, warm body that was Daryl Dixon. The tension in his shoulders disappeared, and finally, Daryl let himself dissolve into the women in his lap. His brain shut down, his eyes slammed shut, and he didn't hear the soft sound of breathing from behind him.

But it was there nonetheless, and it wasn't until Jackson jerked open the rusty old door with a sickening squeak that Abby and Daryl jerked away from one another, faces burning pink with the embarrassment of two teens caught at the drive-in.

"It's getting' late," Jackson said curtly.

"We'll be in, in a minute," Daryl replied, rolling his eyes.

"Ain't safe to be out here," Jackson pressed, "Gonna be attractin' the wrong kind of attention." His eyes grazed over Abby's body with luxuriating slowness, and Abby found herself wishing she'd picked out a baggier sweater that morning. The man was positively glowering at them, and Abby unconsciously shifted further into Daryl's lap.

"We can take care of ourselves," Daryl retorted, thinking Jackson was referring to walkers. Abby knew better.

"Suit yerselves," Jackson ground out after a tense minute. His voice was joyless. "I'll be inside preppin' dinner." He picked up the gutted and skinned rabbits from beside Daryl and was gone before Abby could put together a sentence.

Once they could clearly hear him fiddling about in the kitchen, Daryl muttered, "He seem a little too upset 'bout that to you?"

Abby let out a ragged sigh. "Yeah." She leaned her head into his chest, craving the comfort his solid figure provided. "Do you think it's safe to stay the night?" _Hell no. That hillbilly son of a bitch wants you, I can see it in his eyes. Bastard thinks he's got the upper hand. Thinks I don't know. I'll kill the fucker, if I have to. I'll do it for you._

"No safer than it'd be out there," Daryl said grimly, after a beat. She was already worried, bordering on frightened, and he didn't want to make it any worse. "Better off with four walls and a roof over our heads, at least for tonight. 'The Devil you know' and all that."

Abby nodded into his shoulder, biting at her lip. "It's getting dark, already," she remarked. They both stared out at the trees as the sun slowly set.

"Ain't seen hide or tail of that wife of his."

"True. It's not quite dark yet though, he said she'd come after dark."

"Yeah, that's what he said."

"So you think he was lying."

"I think…I think it doesn't matter much right now. We're stayin' the night. Better to concentrate on keepin' safe for the time being."

"Okay," Abby sighed, "Okay."

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

Dinner was a tense affair. Abby and Daryl hardly spoke a word aloud, hardly looked up from their food at all. And yet, the room was far from silent. Jackson babbled incessantly about his childhood, his high school glory years, his Darcy.

And that was the part that put Daryl off the most, really. He spoke about Darcy with face serene, tone nastalgic. There was no hint of worry, not the smallest inkling of fear. And the world being the way it was, if Darcy hadn't made her way back to the cabin yet, then Jackson _should_ be afraid. Very fucking afraid. No, that didn't sit right with Daryl at all.

"Speakin' of your wife, it's dark out and she still ain't here. Think it might be time go to out and get her?" Daryl interrupted, slapping his fork down to the table.

"Oh, she'll arrive soon enough," Jackson said idly, plunging right back into his story.

"I have to agree with Daryl here, Jackson. What if she misunderstood the plan, and thought you would come back for her if things were safe?"

"Don't you worry your pretty 'lil head 'bout that, 'darlin. She'll be here soon," Jackson drawled, and Daryl clenched his fists into a ball underneath the table.

_Since when is it 'darlin'' and not 'ma'am'?_

"But she could be in trouble," Abby argued weakly, "A herd could have come through and trapped her, just like before. You can't just leave her out there."

"Don't you be tellin' me what to do, little girl," Jackson spat, but then his soulless smile slid easily back across his face. "Tell ya what, how's about the three of us relax a bit, huh?"

He stood up and made his way over to the cupboard with over-the-top enthusiasm, making a show of reaching to the back of the cabinet, and lovingly caressing the bottle he retrieved.

"My old lady didn't much like me havin' this 'round the house," Jackson boomed, "So we best drink it up before she gets here." Daryl and Abby sat across from one another at the table, and Jackson slapped the bottle down between them, along with three glasses. He poured out the amber liquid with a tender attention to detail.

He raised his glass up ceremoniously, and the couple shared a furtive glance. Nearly imperceptibly, Daryl nodded, signifying that they should appease the old man.

"To new friends and old memories," Jackson drawled, then flung his drink down his gullet with little flourish.

Daryl did the same, not to be outdone by some old hick, and Abby sipped at her share timidly. Jackson stared at Daryl, shoulders set into a square, "Another round then." It was a challenge, not an offer. _Dixons ain't pussies. _

The archer smirked and cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, _Bring it on, old man_.

Round two quickly devolved into round five, and Abby was well aware that Daryl had reached his limit. The worried glances Abby kept shooting in his direction registered somewhere in his mind, but he chose to ignore it. He needed to do this. It was a matter of _principle_ for fuck's sake.

Daryl's fingers fumbled when he reached for the bottle again. Southern Comfort had always been his favorite. And though his tolerance was a great deal lower now than it had been in his prime, he felt sure he could drink this old fucker into the ground.

But before he could struggle to unscrew the top, Abby stretched her arms up above her head and yawned dramatically. Daryl grinned at her, looking younger than she'd ever seen him.

"Ya gettin' tired, sweetheart?" he drawled, accent becoming thicker the more he drank.

Abby puffed out her bottom lip in a feigned pout and nodded. _Take the bait. You know you want to, baby, just fucking fall for it. _

"S'alright sweetheart, I'mma…I'mma take care of ya," Daryl slurred, fighting to get to his feet. But Abby was immediately there, supporting him from under his arm in as subtle a manner as possible, and leading him back towards the bedroom. Annoyance at him burned in the pit of her stomach. _Letting his goddamn testosterone get the better of him, getting into a pissing contest like some stupid teenager._ But being that she was more concerned with the gray-haired man slouched at the table behind her, she let it slide.

"G'night," she muttered as they rounded the corner. Daryl fell backwards onto the bed just as soon as she got him close enough, mumbling words she couldn't understand. He raked his hands through his hair as she unlaced his boots and threw them to the side, then picked up his legs and spun them around so that he was laying fully on the bed.

"Look'atcha, takin' care of me," Daryl mumbled, "Sucha good girl. Supposda be…other way 'round." Everything felt warm, and fuzzy, and good. And from the back of his mind, Daryl was vaguely aware that this wasn't what drunk was supposed to feel like. He stared up at her and smiled lazily, "So pretty…yer…angel…Abby…love…"

Daryl had been drunk before. He'd blacked out more times than he'd like to count. But this was starting to feel less like drunk and more like…drugged. It wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to. And had Merle not spiked his drinks a few times in the past, he might not have recognized it at all. But before he could gather the words to explain that to Abby, who was gazing down at him with worry written all over her face, the world went quiet and black.


	13. Part 13

_**This chapter, you guys...good lord, this chapter. READ AND REVIEW y'all!**_

**Part Thirteen**

Abby had tried to stay awake. She really had. Something about the way Daryl had so easily slipped off into oblivion hadn't sat well with her. She'd seen Daryl drunk before, and it hadn't been like that. Not at all the same. But she could feel the buzz of the modest amount of whiskey she'd drunk warm in her veins, lulling her without her consent. She tried to stay awake. But a couple hours later, fighting against insobriety and the darkness surrounding her, she fell into a deep sleep.

When Abby woke up, she was being dragged out of bed by her hair.

Her sharp cry startled Daryl into a state of semi-consciousness. Not entirely awake, he recognized the sound of Abby in danger right away, and reached blearily for his crossbow. When his fingers met nothing but air, he plunged a fist beneath his pillow. His knife was gone too. Daryl was immediately on his knees and prepared to lunge forward blindly, but then he saw the glimmer of Jackson's pistol.

"Move and she's dead," Jackson sneered, keeping hold of a struggling Abby by a fist of her golden locks.

Still fairly out of it, the sheer panic on Abby's face was enough to pitch him forward across the bed. But before he could make any progress, Jackson had cocked his pistol, and was holding it squarely to Abby's temple.

"You best keep sittin' on that bed, boy. Or I'll kill her."

Daryl froze instantly, looking between Jackson's smug , resolute face and Abby's watery eyes. She was sobbing, silently, the old redneck's grip on her nearly as painful as the realization that he had them at his will.

"_Daryl,_" Abby whispered brokenly, and Daryl felt his eyes sting and burn with the effort it took not to show any weakness.

Jackson slapped his captive hard across the face with the back of his hand, then grasped her chin harshly and forced her to look at him. "Now, now, Darcy. Need ya to keep your mouth shut like a good 'lil whore."

He threw Abby effortlessly against the wall, and was pinning her there in an instant, forcing her hands above her head and cuffing her to a pipe running horizontally across the room before she could register what was happening.

"Thought you two would never fall asleep. Swear I gave ya enough sedative to take down a fuckin' black bear," Jackson muttered to himself, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Aww, Darcy, dontcha look as pretty as a picture? I missed ya, darlin'."

Abby kicked out her legs violently and thrashed against her restraints when she felt Jackson's calloused fingers tenderly caress the side of her face.

"Shh, sweetheart, I ain't gonna kill ya. Just gonna hurt ya s'all," Jackson cooed. Abby's eyes shot to Daryl's, and her heart broke at the look of utter helplessness and desperation she found there. Jackson caught the direction of her gaze. "Ah, that's what _he_ calls ya, innit? Sweetheart. He call you that when he was inside of ya?"

_Not her. Not her. Please, not her._

Jackson punctuated the phrase by grabbing at Abby's crotch through her denim shorts, grinning when she kicked frantically and cried out.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Daryl screamed, rage overwhelming all his impulses. Jackson's eyes gleamed in response, grin widening as he revealed Daryl's hunting knife for all to see, tucked into his belt. He pulled it out and pressed it to Abby's neck until the first drop of blood slid down her body to disappear beneath her sweater.

"Best watch yerself boy, or you won't like what happens to her. You lookin' to get her killed? Want me to slit her throat open right now and let her turn? Or how's about I just hack off them pesky feet of hers, so she won't be runnin' off no more? That what you want?"

Daryl fell back onto his knees, chest rising and falling rapidly as anger was replaced by fear.

"Don't hurt her," Daryl heard himself rasp. His eyes were fixed on Abby's. _I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry._

Jackson quirked an eyebrow, smiling joylessly. "What was that boy?"

"D-don't hurt her. Please, don't hurt her." _Not her_. Daryl barely recognized his own voice, the stutter and crack uncharacteristic to him. He was halfway certain that the drugs in his system held some responsibility for this, for the dullness of his senses and the slowness of his mind. He wanted so desperately to spring out and crush Jackson's skull beneath his heel. But he couldn't risk making the wrong move. Not now. Not with _her life_ on the line. _His girl_.

A handful of tears streamed silently down Daryl's face. Years of being whipped and beaten and degraded hadn't affected him like this. They hadn't broken him. But this did. Losing Abby would, he realized that now.

Jackson seemed to take as much pleasure in Daryl's broken expression as he did in Abby's ceaseless whimpering. Making a show of it, and being sure to keep Daryl's eye as he moved, the old man sliced through the front of Abby's sweater, letting it hang down off her shoulders leaving her open and vulnerable to his touch and his gaze.

"You, you d-don't have to do this. We can- we can just _go._ N-not this. _Please_," Abby sobbed. Daryl's entire body shook from the bed, mirroring Abby perfectly.

_You're going to lose her. This is your fault. He's gonna kill her and it's your fault. You're poison. You did this to her. You deserve this. _

"Shut the fuck up, Darcy. No one gives a shit," Jackson spat. Then he turned his attention on Daryl. "Like what ya see, boy?"

Daryl stared forward blankly, trying his best to retreat to the back of his mind.

"Betcha thought she was _yours_, didn't ya?" Jackson crooned, and Daryl's eyes regained focus at that. "Betcha thought she was _all_ yours. But lemme tell ya boy, this 'lil whore is _mine_. Always has been, always will be."

But that…that was something Daryl knew wasn't true. Abby was _his._ He knew it like he knew his own name. Fighting against the anguish that was creeping in on him, that was the one truth Daryl held onto.

"Ain't that right, Darcy?" Jackson slapped Abby hard across the face to prove his point. His eyes locked on Daryl's, clearly surprised to find the hunter looking markedly less despondent than before. That would not do. That would not do at all.

"You love her?" Jackson growled, pushing the tip of Daryl's knife against Abby's bare sternum. She held her breath as it pierced skin, and Daryl's hands twitched at his sides.

"Don't hurt her, please don't fucking hurt her," Daryl pleaded. He wasn't above begging, for _this_.

"How's about you answer my question or I shove this knife up her _fucking cunt_?!" Jackson shouted, "Do you _love _her?"

"Yes!" Daryl finally shouted back. "Yes." His voice broke, and Jackson looked victorious once again. He couldn't look Abby in the eye; not now. If he saw the rejection there, he'd never be able to go through with what he had in mind. He thought back to everything good she'd ever said to him.

_Let me help you. _

_I want you._

_I'm not going anywhere._

_I want to make you feel good._

_I'm yours._

_I'm so lucky I found you._

_You're a good man._

_You're not him._

_I trust your instincts._

_I missed you._

Daryl let the warmth of every kind comment she'd ever thrown his way consume him. _I'll protect her. I'll protect her or die trying._

"Good boy...s'what I thought. That'll make this better." Jackson turned back towards Abby's exposed skin and pressed his blade into her belly.

"No!" Daryl shouted, "Don't hurt her...just...hurt _me._ Please!" The blade retracted, and Jackson glanced over his shoulder at the archer.

Daryl could feel Abby's eyes on him as well, but he knew that if he caught sight of those silver orbs for even a second he'd lose his nerve. So he remained focused on their tormenter when he opened his mouth next.

"You don't wanna hurt her...she's yours and...it doesn't make any sense to fuck up your own property, does it? You don't wanna mark up someone as pretty as that...just, do it to _me_, alright? Hurt me. I deserve it."

Out of his periphery, he could see Abby shaking her head violently, mouthing _no, no, no._ But Jackson seemed pleased with this suggestion. His feet were bringing him towards Daryl's defeated form, and there was a malevolent glint in his eye, but he stopped short when Abby spoke from behind him.

"Jackson," Abby called out softly, "Jackson, you promised." Two pairs of eyes shot to her face. One confused. One leering and predatory.

"Yeah, what'd I promise ya, darlin'?"

"You- you said you'd take care of me." Abby kept her voice small and fragile.

"Didn't say quite that, sweetheart. Said you needed to be taken _care_ of. There's a difference." He strode purposefully towards his strung up victim, eyes lazing over her body until Abby felt her stomach turn.

"B-but...don't you...don't you want me?" she blubbered.

"Abby, _no_," Daryl rasped, "Jackson...you want _me._ Punish _me._ Not her. You don't want to hurt her, you don't want—"

"Oh, I ain't gonna hurt her," Jackson interrupted. "She's gonna love every second of it. Ain't that right, Darcy?"

Abby's eyes stung when she nodded feebly. "Y-you really…want me?"

"Aw, darlin', course I do. My Darcy girl..." Jackson cooed, closing the distance between them.

Daryl's mind was reeling, and Abby wouldn't meet his gaze. _What the fuck is she doing? Did they plan this?_ And though Abby knew she couldn't risk looking away from the encroaching, old redneck now, she begged Daryl in her mind to understand.

"You aren't acting like it..." Abby whimpered overdramatically, batting her eyelashes at the beast of a man.

Jackson braced himself against the wall above her, arms on either side of her head, caging her in. "Gettin' needy, huh? My 'lil whore need some good cock? All's ya had to do was ask, sweetheart. G'wan an' say it, Darcy. Tell me whatcha need."

_No, no, no, not this. Not her. Not her. She's mine. I love her. You can't fucking have her!_

Abby tried to conceal the way her hands shook. "I need..." she swallowed hard, refusing to cry. _Not now._ "you. Need you." She tried to make it sound believable, needy, and weak. She didn't chance a glance in Daryl's direction, but she could feel the tension radiating from his corner of the room. He didn't understand. Not yet, anyways. _Please, Daryl. Read my mind, just this once._

Jackson leaned in towards her, lips seeking out hers. And as soon as his eyes fluttered shut, hers went wide and alert, zooming in on Daryl's instantaneously. _Get the fuck UP, Daryl_, her foggy orbs screamed. _Come on, come on, now, now, NOW!_

She saw the moment that her plan came into focus for Daryl, when he gave her the slightest nod and began to creep silently towards her. The slightest tilt of his chin and the resoluteness in his gaze were all the reassurance she needed. Jackson's lips were on Abby's now, possessive and consuming, and she moved her lips accordingly, perpetuating the rouse. But as soon as Daryl's form came into clear view directly behind their tormentor, she sucked the man's lip into her mouth and bit down hard.

"You fucking bi—!" was the shout Jackson never had a chance to finish. Before he could raise a hand to Abby, and assuring that Jackson would never touch _his girl_ again, Daryl placed two hands on either side of Jackson's graying head and twisted hard, until the sickening crack of snapping bone echoed into the room.

The dull thud of a lifeless body striking the ground followed soon after. Daryl and Abby stared at each other silently for a beat, both panting and red-eyed. Abby opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn't think, could hardly breathe. All she wanted was to fling herself in Daryl's direction, let his solid form and soft words comfort her. But her hands were still cuffed over her head, wrists bloody and raw from her constant struggling.

"Abby…" Daryl whispered, taking a halting step forward. Her breath hitched, and tears streamed down her face.

"Abby," he whispered again, stepping close enough to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch, desperate for the reassurance, and the small gesture was enough to allow Daryl to release the breath he'd been holding. "It's okay," he said for both of their benefits, "You're okay." His hands swept back and forth over her body, needing to feel the warmth of her soft skin.

"Daryl," Abby tried to say, though her voice cracked embarrassingly. "Get me down?"

The simplicity of her request snapped him out of his daze, and he quickly fumbled through Jackson's pockets and came back empty-handed.

"Didn't even have the fucking keys," Daryl muttered as he got to his feet. And _that _reality hit him harder than anything. Neither of them was ever meant to make it out alive.

"He doesn't have the keys on him, I gotta go find something to cut the cuffs with," Daryl explained, looking Abby in the eye.

"No…" she whimpered.

The way her face fell nearly broke him all over again, but he kept his composure for her sake. "Abby, I just wanna get you down, alright? I'll be right back."

"No, no, Daryl, don't leave me here!" she wailed, full-on sobbing again.

He pressed his forehead to hers and ran his fingers through her hair. "Abby, I'll be right back, okay? I swear to god, I'm coming back."

Abby gasped in a deep breath and nodded weakly. "Be quick." He was out the door in a sprint before she had a chance to voice the other concern on her mind. _What about Jackson_?

Daryl ran straight through the house and to the shed out back. _Bolt-cutters, pliers, something. There has to be something_.

And to Abby's dismay, it wasn't long at all before the body on the floor began to twitch and moan. There was no rhythm or rhyme to this sort of thing. Sometimes the shift was instantaneous. Sometimes it took hours.

Abby didn't try to struggle, partially to avoid making noise and partially because she knew it would be no use. She was stuck here until Daryl returned to cut her down. _He'll come back. You know he's coming back_. So instead she braced herself against the wall, legs tensed and ready to lash out if the need arose.

When filmed-over blue-black eyes settled on her strung-up form, the reanimated man let out a hungry snarl. The muscles in Abby's arms strained and twitched as she kicked her legs out with as much momentum as she could muster. Shoe-less feet collided with the monster's chest, and it stumbled back, but didn't go crashing to the ground.

It righted itself and lazed towards her again, not the least bit perturbed when two small feet shoved it back once again.

"Daryl! Daryl!" she screamed with her eyes closed, struggling to accept her fate as a captive meal.

But when she opened her eyes, he was there. Already snatching his knife up off the ground and plunging it into Jackson's skull, putting their tormentor down permanently. He pulled bolt-cutters out from his back pocket and clipped the chain connecting Abby's cuffs. Unaccustomed to the sudden freedom, Abby fell into his arms, and he accepted her willingly, cradling her against his chest.

Daryl collapsed onto the floor with her in his lap, her head tucked under his and his legs wrapped around her, pinning her to him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Abby," he whispered again and again, "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

The pair lost track of how long they sat like that, with Daryl whispering apologies into Abby's hair, and Abby fighting to control her trembling. But when Daryl pressed his hand to the carpet for support, and felt the squelch of blood between his fingers, he decided enough was enough. He wiped his hands on his jeans and lifted Abby bridal-style, carrying her through the cabin and into the living room.

"Don't know about you, but I don't wanna sleep in there," Daryl said softly as he set her down across his lap.

"Don't think I'll be sleeping at all," Abby replied just as quietly.

"Yeah…" Daryl sighed, "Abby I- I'm so fucking sorry. That…it was all my fault. I should have _known._ I should have—"

"You only did it because I asked you to. It's just…I _know_ there are still good people out there. I know it. I wanted to trust him and I should have trusted you more—"

"But I knew something was off and I didn't push it, I let you convince me everything was fine. Shoulda left this morning. Shoulda left as soon as he showed his damn face here—"

"Daryl, stop," Abby cut him off, "It was no one's fault. No one's fault but _his._ I…I didn't see what you saw. Not until it was too late. If I'd just _listened_—"

"No, Abby. That's not on you. I'm the one that's supposed to protect you."

"No," she said firmly, "We protect each other. And I didn't hold up my end of the deal."

Daryl pulled back to look her in the eye. "Abby, what you did in there…" _You would have let him rape you…for what? For me?_

"You know I didn't want to, don't you? You have to know that, Daryl," Abby pleaded.

"I know, I know," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. "But Abby…" Daryl stared into her silver eyes, drooping from exhaustion and relief. "Abby…ya can't do stuff like that. What he woulda, _Christ_, what he woulda done to you…"

"You were ready to do the same for me," Abby argued softly.

"That ain't the same."

"Why not?"

"You know why," Daryl replied, after a beat.

Abby frowned hard at him. "What, because I don't care about you the way you care about me? Because your life doesn't mean as much as mine? Explain it to me, Daryl."

"Abby, you can't fuckin' risk your life for me. I ain't _worth _it. I ain't—"

"I love you too, you know," Abby interrupted, and that stopped Daryl in his tracks. He stared at her with his mouth gaping open, brows furrowed in confusion.

But then his face settled into something like disappointment and he muttered, "Ya don't have to say that."

"You think I don't mean it?"

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, "Just 'cuz I said it in there, doesn't mean you've gotta say it back. You don't owe me nothin'. And I get why you wouldn't…"

"Daryl," Abby hissed forcefully, straddling his legs and forcing him to look her in the eye. "I _love _you."_She…loves me. She loves _me._ Abby loves me. _She stared him down for a minute, and the moment she saw the defensiveness and fear start to melt away from his eyes, she pressed her lips against his as hard as she could.

Kissing Daryl was nothing like kissing that asshole. Daryl was tender and warm, relief and affection characterizing every small touch he made across her body. He pulled back, ever so slightly, to catch his breath. And with his forehead pressed against Abby's, he whispered into their shared air, "Love you."

Daryl felt, more than saw, her smile.

And from the way his lips were quirking up unconsciously, he thought he must be pretty happy too.

Daryl pulled Abby into his chest, laying her head above his heart and tucking her underneath his chin protectively.

"Sleep," he ordered gently, smiling even broader when she yawned dutifully against his skin, finally secure enough in his arms to let the tiredness wash over her.

"There are still good people, Daryl," Abby murmured sleepily into his chest, "I know because you're one of them."

"Don't think the good ones survive," he mumbled, "S'why I'm gonna hold on to ya with all I've got."

Abby seemed content with that answer, and Daryl settled back to watch her relax into his body.

"I'm still yours," she murmured just before she fell asleep. And for the first time in his life, Daryl drifted off to sleep smiling.


	14. Part 14

_**And here we go. Read and review, people!**_

**Part Fourteen**

Daryl hadn't been all too pleased when they'd found the place, but with Abby injured, it would have to do. Three days of wandering through the woods, scavenging food and hunting when they could, and they still hadn't managed to find a lick of medical supplies. Nothing to clean the cuts Abby had suffered at Jackson's hand. No needle and thread to stitch her back together.

Daryl kept a sharper eye on her than before. Abby wasn't all too keen on it at first, never having much liked being babied. But there was a certain reassurance to having a man like Daryl Dixon watching your back. And in the end, her eyes were on him just as much, if not more.

Above all else, Abby was frustrated. Daryl still held her close at night, still brushed her hair behind her ears when it fell into her line of sight. But aside from small touches here and there, they hadn't so much as kissed since leaving that cabin.

Words had slipped past normally tight-pursed lips, that night. The adrenaline of nearly losing one another had made it all too easy, letting loose those three words both had been trying and trying again _not_ to say aloud. Abby had her reasons. She didn't want to scare Daryl off, for one. She didn't want to be vulnerable, was another.

For Daryl, it was another problem entirely. He knew he'd felt love before. For his brother, and his mom. But never _this_ kind of love. And never with such world-shattering certainty that that affection for her seeped into his thoughts every spare second of the day. He'd woken up the morning after so nearly losing her with a single, resounding notion that everything was different now, and Daryl had clutched Abby's sleeping form so tightly against his chest that she'd been startled awake by lack of air.

Abby told him she loved him every morning when they woke up. She said it at night, before she drifted to sleep in his arms. She said it when he caught them a meal for the day and when he sat awake at night on watch for monsters. He said it back to her without hesitation, every single time. And each time Daryl heard the words, he believed them more and more. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so impossible that someone could love him. That _Abby_ could love him. She whispered the phrase to him so often, and with so much heart, that it made up for the decades he'd gone without hearing it at all.

If Daryl was being honest with himself, he was frustrated too. His body had become accustomed to frequent release, only to have the promise of it ripped away with no notice. The culprit of his constant arousal never left his side. She strutted languidly towards him in the glow of the afternoon light, bending slowly to retrieve a discarded arrow from his collection. She led him through the woods in the daylight, hips swaying seductively as if there weren't walkers to kill or dangerous people to avoid.

She'd pulled out all the stops in her collection, small though it may be. And when was the last time she'd actually tried to _seduce_ a man for god's sake? But Abby didn't hold it against him, mostly because she could see in every heated glance he sent her way that it wasn't his love for her that was in question. It wasn't a problem with attraction. No, there was something else ticking away in Daryl's mind, forcing him to shift away from her in the early mornings when his erection pressed into the cleft of her ass. She baited him, oh did she bait him. But the poorly-hidden turmoil in Daryl's gaze became so obvious and acute that she didn't press when he cited danger of walkers and needing to keep watch as reasons they couldn't do more.

Once they reached the funeral home, though, he knew he couldn't hide from it any longer.

The truth of it was: Daryl had no idea how to make love. The phrase alone felt foreign in his mind. And he'd been going over it for days now. He'd need to touch her gently, more gently than before. Not from behind, never from behind. He'd need to kiss her, and tell her he loved her...during? After? That is, if she even wanted him near her at all. What if he finally found it in him to touch her below the waist, and all she saw was _Jackson_? Daryl had no idea what to expect, or what was expected of him, and the uncertainty of it all left him permanently anxious, worried that the wrong move might send Abby packing.

Because Abby said she loved him, and Daryl believed her when she said it. _But what if she changed her mind?_ His mom had changed _her_ mind about loving him. She must have. Or else she never would have let the house burn down with her inside.

The funeral home reminded him of his mother. It reminded him of the day they put her in the ground, and neither his dad nor Merle would explain to him why he couldn't look inside the coffin, and see her one last time. He understood now, though. There was nothing left to see.

But Daryl looked around the funeral parlor, gazed into the empty caskets, and all he could see was his mom. The image of her charred body that his childish mind had constructed. Daryl was off-kilter as soon as he stepped through the gates of the cemetery, barely concealing his pain. But Abby couldn't let it go on that way for long.

After securing the house with noisemakers, and checking for walkers, they were surprised to find several cabinets in the kitchen fully stocked with food.

Abby gleefully reached for a jar of peanut-butter, and Daryl mirrored her. But from her periphery, she saw Daryl pause and stare at the jar in his hand with a slight frown.

"There's no dust," he said finally, "This is someone's stash."

Abby nodded her agreement, letting him decide their next move.

"Alright, we'll take half and leave the rest."

Abby gave him a wide smile, then presses her lips together in an attempt to hide it.

"What?" he asked her, smirking.

She gave a small shrug, but then was smiling again, unable to contain it. "Think you're getting soft," she told him, and he jabbed her playfully in the ribs.

"Watch it," he growled, but there was no ferocity behind it.

They ate their dinner in relative silence, Abby watching Daryl watch her. She made a show of licking the peanut butter from her spoon. Long, slow laps with her tongue that made his mouth fall open as he watched. Eventually, Daryl seemed to forget about eating entirely. Abby put down her own food suddenly, then stood from the table and held a hand out to him.

"Come," she said softly, and Daryl followed her up the stairs to what must have been the funeral director's apartment. Abby sat on the edge of the bed, with Daryl still standing in front of her, and their fingers still threaded together.

"We're going to have to talk about it now," she said, and Daryl's eyes darted to the floor.

"Talk 'bout what?" _Don't know where to fuckin' start._

"You won't touch me."

"I'm touchin' you now," Daryl countered, bouncing his eyes down to where their hands were interlaced.

"Not that kind of touch," she replied in a no-nonsense tone.

"Is it…" Abby began, looking so uncomfortable that anxiety welled up in Daryl as well, "Is it because of what happened with Jackson?"

Daryl shifted his weight awkwardly in front of her, "Kinda figured after all that…I should give you space."

"I haven't been asking for space. The exact opposite, actually," Abby sighed. "I mean I understand if after he touched me like that, you don't really want me anymore…but we should talk about it…"

_She thinks I don't want _her?_ Who in their right fucking mind would ever turn her down? _Fuck_. That'd be me I guess._

"Christ, Abby," Daryl huffed out, dropping to his knees and seeking out her eyes. "It ain't like that at all. Ain't about Jackson…it's just _me…_ bein' here…"

"At the funeral home? Why?"

_I dunno how to say this. Dunno if I even want to._

"Abby… you're the only person who's ever loved me. Ya gotta know that. And I'm just...I don't wanna fuck this up. But I know I will. Fucked enough else up in my life to make it a pattern."

Daryl stared hard at the place where his and Abby's hands were resting in her lap. But then he felt her delicate fingers on the side of his face and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Daryl, I don't believe for a second that I'm the only person to ever love you. You're too damn good for that to be true. Your brother did. Your mom, I _know_ she did. Mothers can't help but love their kids."

Abby gave him as reassuring a smile as she could muster, but it faded when she saw his eyes darken and his expression turn morose. "Daryl?" Abby whispered tentatively, and he shivered at the sound of her voice.

"Think she did when I was little, but...she changed her mind," Daryl said quietly, still refusing to look Abby in the eye.

"What do you mean?"

"She...when I was a kid she was always smokin' and drinkin'...then one day, house burnt down with her in it. Merle and my dad didn't talk about it much, but she did it on _purpose_, I think. I mean, it wasn't even the first time she'd tried. I caught her, with a razor when I was really little. And when I told my dad 'bout it he just got really mad and beat the hell out of the both of us, so I never brought it up again. But...ya don't leave your kids like that if ya love them. You just don't."

His voice broke when he said it. But at least it was over, done with. Do with it what she would; he'd managed to tell her.

"Oh, Daryl..." Abby murmured, rubbing her thumb soothingly over the palm of his hand. And for the first time since he'd met her, she couldn't hide the pity in her voice. He pulled back immediately, intending to head back downstairs and search out some liquor. But Abby caught him in a perfectly-timed, off-balance kiss. He hadn't realized how badly he'd been needing it until her mouth was moving against his, and Daryl melted into her immediately. He laced his fingers into Abby's hair, and pressed himself fully against her, craving the contact with a desperation he hadn't felt since that first night together.

With Daryl now propped above her on the bed, body laying half on top of her, Abby felt it safe to continue. "Daryl…please listen to me when I say this. Your mom _never_ stopped loving you. If it was on purpose- and I'm not saying it was- then you have to know that. She _loved _you. But when someone's suffering like that…sometimes there's nothing that can bring them out of it. No amount of love given or received that can make them well. She wasn't leaving _you_, Daryl, never stopped loving _you._ I can promise you that. It was everything else she wanted away from."

Abby paused for a moment to watch Daryl closely. His face had transformed from scrunched up and defensive to open and entranced. _All these years, and he'd thought it was his fault? All these years, and he really believed she'd stopped loving him?_

"I'm not your mom," Abby suddenly said, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind that the words she was about to say might not go over so well. "I'm not depressed. I'm not trapped with a man like your father. I'm choosing to be here with you, a good man. The best man I've ever met. And Daryl, there's nothing you could do that would make me want to leave. _Nothing._ I _love _you."

Daryl counted the baby blue flecks in the silver pools of Abby's eyes as he absorbed her words._ She doesn't know everything about me. She doesn't know all the things I've done. _

"Yeah, but...that could change," Daryl finally rasped.

"It _won't _change," Abby immediately answered, taking his face in her hands. "It just won't. I'll never leave, and I'll never stop loving you. And I'll do everything in my power to make you believe that, okay?"

Daryl dropped his forehead to her shoulder and nodded slowly, letting himself be soothed by her fingers stroking the back of his neck. "Love you," he mumbled into her skin. He pulled Abby further into the curve of his body, wrapping himself around her.

"So, that explains why you've been in such a funk since we got here," Abby said softly, "But doesn't really explain why we haven't done _this_ since we left the cabin."

Daryl nuzzled into the curve of her neck, then finally mumbled, "Dunno how."

Abby barked out a laugh, then slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold back her smile. "Daryl, I think we've established that you're _more_ than capable as far as that's concerned." Her body shook with laughter, and when she looked up at Daryl he was still trying to remain stoic.

"Ain't funny," he insisted halfheartedly, biting back a grin. "Just…figured it'd have to be different now…"

"Nothing about the way we touch each other has to change, Daryl," Abby murmured, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "We both knew how we felt for a while, I'm guessing, and nothing changed back then, did it? About how we do _this_?"

She pushed him slowly onto his back, straddling his body and pushing his shirt from his shoulders in one smooth motion. Daryl watched in awe as she pulled her sweater up and over her head, revealing her full breasts to his unabashed gaze.

_Perfect. So fucking perfect._

"We can still do slow," she whispered, kissing along his collar-bone. "Take my time to explore every inch of you with my hands," sure fingers travelled up his torso to lightly tweak his nipples. He shuddered underneath her.

"Or my mouth," she murmured, circling the opposite nipple with her tongue. And with those words, Daryl was already lost. His hardness pressed up against her headily, and his breathing was heavy and irregular as he watched her worship his scarred chest.

Abby rotated her hips against him, and Daryl let out a relieved moan, hands going straight for her hips. She unlatched his belt and undid his fly without hesitation, watching the heat rise to his cheeks.

"Or we can do it hard, and fast, and rough," Abby whispered to him, reaching into his jeans and taking his aching member firmly in her hand. Daryl bucked up into her grasp with a deep groan, held back by the weight of Abby's hips against his.

_Jesus Christ, what have I gotten myself into?_

He felt Abby palm the swollen head of his cock, and his entire body pulsed with sensation. "Abby!" he gasped desperately, shoulder coming up off the bed only to plummet back down.

Abby slid backwards off of him to quickly discard her shorts and panties. He watched her in a daze as she pulled his jeans down and off his body, the only layer left between them. She climbed back into his lap and stroked his member slowly, watching precum bead at the head.

"We can do whatever you want," she murmured, "What do you need, Daryl?" One finger pressed at his slit, and Daryl's entire body jolted. He held onto Abby for dear life, fingers digging into her sides as she touched him.

"Need you. Anything," Daryl panted, pleaded really, and Abby smiled. "Like this," he added after a moment to think. He held tight to her thighs, pinning her on top of him. "Need you like this."

It was obvious to Daryl that Abby on top was the only option for them, at least right now. She'd always felt safest, sexiest, when he'd let her take control. She'd told him as much. And after everything that had happened, if Daryl knew anything at all, he knew _that_ was what she needed right now. Control. _I know you ain't as okay as you're claiming. Show me what you need. Show me what to do. _

"You want me in charge, huh?" she murmured, now stroking him in earnest. He nodded breathlessly, and the muscles in his abs spasmed with every downward movement.

Abby leaned down to nibble on his earlobe, "You going to take everything I give you?" she whispered. He felt her lightly cup his balls, and the small gesture nearly wrecked him.

"Yeah," he panted, "Fuck, yeah Abby. _Please_."

Daryl's hands rested loosely at her hips, and she could see it was taking all his will power not to dig in his nails and thrust up into her. He was biting steadily at his lip, watching her touch him, and the utter trust and awe in his gaze was nearly too much. Abby took him firmly in her hand and impaled herself on his length in one rough movement.

"Fuck!" Daryl called out, as his body curved up and inwards towards the source of his pleasure. The tight, wet, heat was sudden and perfect and he couldn't imagine ever living without her, couldn't picture a time when he wouldn't need her like this. And when she began to move against him, fluid, deep strokes that took the breath right out of him, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for long.

"Fuck, Abby, been needin' you for days," he breathed out hurriedly, "Dunno…dunno how I waited s'long. Christ, I ain't gonna last."

"I'll help you," Abby panted back, bouncing away in his lap. Daryl didn't touch her body, not this time. He wanted to give her free reign over him, the power he knew she needed. Instead, one hand went to her hair, and the other to her cheek, lightly caressing smooth skin as she rode him. It wasn't long at all before he felt her begin to tighten around him.

Abby watched Daryl gnaw on his lip, watched him throw back his head and moan her name. She knew how close he was, how close they _both_ were, but she wasn't ready for this to end.

"Not yet," she breathed, _ordered_, and Daryl nodded dutifully, brow scrunching in concentration as Abby exploded around him, clenching down with tortuous heat and milking him unwillingly towards release.

A half minute later and the pair finally sucked in a breath. Daryl was teetering on the edge underneath her, sweating and flushed, and moaning with every gasping breath.

But then an aftershock flowed through Abby, and her walls tightened around him again, and Daryl was throbbing inside of her, _pulsing_ with need.

"I can't," he groaned desperately, "Abby, please. _I can't._"

"You can," she whispered back. Snaking a hand behind her and around the base of Daryl's cock. Thumb and finger made a tight ring and the look of surprise on his face nearly made her laugh aloud. But then the look was replaced with bliss bordering on agony, as his body seized and shook but the sensation of a world-shattering orgasm was denied to him.

Abby rode him with abandon, leaning back across his thighs and supporting herself with the hand that wasn't already occupied.

"Touch me," she moaned breathlessly, "Daryl, _please_ touch me." And he didn't need to be told twice. One hand was immediately at her core, rubbing desperately against her clit in small, calculated movements. The other toyed with her breasts, pinching at her nipples and begging her to let go.

She clenched down on him, building towards release once more, and Daryl let out a choked moan.

"Abby, I _can't_," he whimpered, feeling her tighten around him, impale herself faster and faster.

"Abby, need you," he groaned helplessly, and her body spasmed around him, pushing and pulling at his throbbing length until he couldn't breathe.

"I can't do this," he panted brokenly, "_Please_, Abby. _Please let me come_." And with that, Abby camped hard around him, her hand disappearing from his cock with perfect timing, as they both came hard, twitching and shuddering with the intensity of it and grasping onto each other frantically. Daryl sobbed when he came, cock erupting again and again and for _so damn long_ that he whimpered when it ended, body relaxed and boneless underneath an incredibly sated Abby.

"Jesus," he muttered, when he could spare the air to speak. "_Fuck._"

"Mmm," Abby murmured in agreement, burrowing into Daryl's strong chest.

"Love you," he breathed out, already nearly asleep, "Fuckin' love you."

"Love you more," she mumbled sleepily. And then they were both gone.


	15. Part 15

_**Here it is, guys...Read and Review! And remember, I love y'all, and I most definitely love Daryl and Abby. Do not fear!**_

**Part Fifteen**

Abby woke up with Daryl on top of her, again. He was lying diagonally across her with his head pillowed in the curve of her waist, and despite her best efforts, Abby broke out into a quiet fit of laughter. The stuttered shaking woke Daryl up.

"Wha'?" he groaned, almost unintelligibly.

"I think you're doing it wrong," Abby giggled. And Daryl picked up his head to look at her.

"Watcha talkin' 'bout?" he slurred.

"Every time we sleep next to each other, you either end up on top of me or I end up on top of you. Don't think that's entirely normal," Abby explained with a smile.

"Ya complainin'?" Daryl drawled.

"Nope," Abby replied, "Just my way of saying I love you."

She felt Daryl smile against her stomach. "Love ya too."

"You sound kinda drunk this morning. You been hitting the bottle without me?"

"Can't help it if ya fucked the life outta me last night," he grumbled, frowning deeper when his comfy position was jostled with another bout of giggles from the woman below him.

Abby took a deep, calming breath, and Daryl felt her fingers go to his hair. She scratched lightly at his scalp, and he hummed contentedly into her stomach, savoring the warmth.

"I know what you were doing, you know. Last night," Abby said.

"S'called fuckin'," Daryl mumbled.

"Oh, is that what it's called?"

Daryl cracked one eye open to look at her. "Fine. _Makin' love._"

Abby grinned widely at him. "That's not what I meant, Daryl."

_Only girl I've ever met who gets pissed off when a guy tries to take care of her. Ain't a damn mind reader, for fuck's sake. Best cover my ass._

Daryl peered at her warily through hooded lids. "Ya mad?"

"Of course not," Abby assured him immediately, "But…you don't have to keep walking on glass around me. What happened with Jackson didn't break me, Daryl. I'm not weak."

Daryl propped himself on his elbows to look Abby in the eye. "Know you ain't. Strongest girl I ever met. Just…didn't wanna fuck anything up."

"You _won't_," Abby said definitively, smiling softly at him. "What happened with Jackson was fucked up, but the only part that really scared me was when I thought he was going to hurt you."

Daryl's mouth was on hers before she could finish her thought. He kissed her soundly, deeply, one hand fisting in her always-soft hair while the other pulled her into his chest. When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead into hers.

"You're too damn good for me," Daryl whispered.

"Wish you'd stop saying that," Abby murmured back.

"I'm workin' on it," he mumbled. They both jumped when they heard the clang and clack of their noisemakers from downstairs.

"Stay here," Daryl ordered, stalking out of the room with his crossbow in hand. He glided down the stairs, opening up the front door and jumping back with his bow aimed and ready. A three-legged and one-eyed dog with scraggly hair and a wary expression looked up at him, clearly startled by Daryl's sudden entrance.

"It's just a damn dog!" Daryl called back into the house. He held out his hand to the mutt, making soft cooing noises to entice it inside, but when he took a step forward the dog took off faster than anyone could expect a three-legged dog to run. When Daryl turned back around, Abby was right behind him.

"Thought I told you to stay put," he sighed, a growl to his voice.

"But Daryl, you said there was a _dog_," Abby replied softly, and the innocence in her tone dispelled any lingering frustration on Daryl's end.

Failing to maintain his glare, Daryl slung his crossbow across his back. "Why dontcha go make us some breakfast. I'm gonna take a better look around this place, see if we can use anything."

Abby hesitated a moment in front of him, clearly unhappy with the prospect of splitting up. But there was something in Daryl's eyes so clearly pleading for her to do this, that she couldn't deny him this small thing. "You'll call me if you need me?"

He reached out to cup her cheek. "Won't be far. I'll make it quick, promise." And Abby seemed content with this answer, journeying back towards the kitchen and leaving Daryl to himself. He let out an enormous relieved breath as soon as she left the room, and headed downstairs towards the morgue. There would be medical supplies downstairs, surely. But in truth, that wasn't what he was after.

Daryl had a very specific prize in mind, one he didn't want Abby to catch him searching for. With only a half dozen bodies to choose from, he was surprised when lucked out nearly immediately. And a matching pair, at that. He cleaned his findings off with some alcohol from the cabinet and pocketed them. Then he grabbed a handful of gauze, antibacterial cream, and miscellaneous meds, and headed upstairs to meet Abby.

He sat down at the kitchen table, plopping his armful of supplies down, and grabbed Abby's hand.

"Lemme take care of you?" he asked tentatively.

Abby gave him a soft, knowing smile. "Daryl, the cuts weren't deep. They're pretty much healed already. We don't need to waste…"

It was the look in his eyes that cut her off. The way those blue pools pierced straight through her, begging her not to fight him. She lost track of her thoughts mid-sentence, completely disarmed by the intensity of his gaze. Daryl seemed nervous, focused, determined, and awe-struck, all at the same time.

"Please?" he rasped quietly, and Abby nodded. She slipped into his lap, straddling him on the chair, and he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her neck.

Daryl slowly undid the buttons of Abby's flannel shirt. _His shirt_, he reminded himself proudly. _Looks better on her, anyways._ He dipped a cotton swab in alcohol and gently cleared away the caked-on blood at her belly, then trailed his fingers slowly up her torso, and paid the cut at her neck the same careful treatment.

He took his time clearing every last trace of blood from her skin, tracing the lines of the injuries that would surely scar. "M'sorry he did this to you," Daryl whispered, eyes on the slit in her neck that could have taken her away from him permanently.

"It wasn't your fault," Abby reminded him.

He met her eyes. "I know. Still sorry though." Daryl took a deep, shaking breath, and Abby frowned at how anxious he seemed. She pressed her hand to his chest and felt the way his heart was hammering away like a mockingbird's, booming and unsteady. Daryl pressed his hand over hers, and stared into her eyes with a look that said _don't ask questions, not yet anyways_.

"I…I w-wanna," Daryl stuttered out, and then clenched his eyes shut at how weak his voice sounded when he needed it most.

"Abby," he began again, "I wanna give you something."

Abby watched him for a beat, watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard, waiting for her response. "Okay," she murmured, and Daryl reached into his pocket.

He held his closed fist between them, hiding his prize. Then Daryl opened his hand slowly, eyes fixed on Abby's face. He was tense, entire body taut and ready to snap violently at the smallest sign of her disproval. He wanted so badly to see Abby smile, for this to make her smile.

Abby's eyes followed his down to look into his palm, where laid a diamond ring. It was perfect, really: a simple silver band, a glittering diamond that was just big enough.

Abby's expression was still largely unreadable, somewhere between shock and disbelief. "Daryl," she whispered finally, and found him gnawing dangerously hard on his lower lip, "You really want this?"

He nodded quickly, face contorting briefly in the effort to put together his thoughts. "Abby, you're…everything. There wasn't ever anyone before you, and there ain't gonna be anyone else. Just you. And when people look at ya….I want them to know you're mine." He sucked in another deep breath, and Abby picked up the ring in her hands examining it closely with a soft smile on her face and tears in her eyes. _Please…just, please._

"Ain't gonna be too official. Dunno the next time we'll be meetin' a priest, or something like that. But I figure if it means something to us…then that's enough. If…if ya want this. If ya want _me_," Daryl finished, utterly confused by Abby's expression.

But then Abby's lips were on his and he could really breathe again. "Of course I want this," she murmured against his mouth, "I want you, I always want you."

A slow smile started to form on Daryl's face, "So…you wanna…?"

"Be Mrs. Dixon? Yeah I definitely want—"

This time it was Daryl's lips who found hers, relief powering through him like a tidal wave.

"Put it on me," she said hurriedly, holding out her hand for him, and Daryl complied with a smile, slipping the ring onto her finger and finding that it was a perfect fit.

"Love it," Abby whispered, staring at the diamond gracing her hand, "Love you."

"Love you more," Daryl happily replied.

"You know," Abby said, burrowing her head into his shoulder contentedly, "it wouldn't hurt for people to know you're mine too."

Daryl couldn't hide his widest of smiles. "Thought you'd say that." He reached back into his pocket and revealed a second right: a men's wedding band.

Abby stared at him with a gaping mouth. "You're telling me Mr. Daryl Dixon, the manliest hunter slash archer slash general do-gooder around, would put on a ring for little old me?"

"Nah," he scoffed, with a wolfish grin, and Abby quirked an eyebrow at him. "Only doin' it if _you_ put it on me."

Abby ran her tongue over her lips and plucked the ring from Daryl's fingers. It was a silver band, simple enough and matching her own ring perfectly. She slid it slowly onto his finger, and let her tongue follow the path the ring had taken. Daryl's mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he watched Abby suck his finger into her mouth, and felt her swirl her tongue around it as she pulled back.

"_Abby_," Daryl breathed.

He was instantly hard underneath her, pressing noticeably into her core. And Abby's eyes never left his as she climbed slowly off his lap, slid her jeans and panties down her legs to pool on the floor, and hopped up onto the counter behind her. She crossed legs and bobbed one foot in the air, watching him.

She didn't have to wait long at all until Daryl was on his feet before her, jerking at his belt and fly to free his aching cock in one stuttered movement. Abby smiled at him when she reached between them to stroke him loosely, pressing her lips to the crease of his ear when he let his head fall to her shoulder and groaned into her skin.

"Keep that up and this'll be over quick," he rasped, and Abby relinquished her grip on him to instead rip off her shirt. But two large, calloused hands halted her movements.

"Leave it on," Daryl growled, voice all gravel and honey. And at the same time, he was shrugging his shirt off, lips plastered to Abby's all the while. Her hands were on his bare back and his mouth was mapping its way down her clavicle, suckling and nipping at skin as Abby moaned into his ear.

"Daryl," Abby moaned breathlessly, "Now, now..." She pulled at his belt loops, beckoning him closer, and Daryl compiled easily. He slid inside her and everything was _fuck yes more want love need home_. But the only word in his mind, the only one that could encompass every emotion powering through his flushed body, was _Abby_.

Daryl snaked a hand between them, rubbing softly at her clit and savoring Abby's gasping moans. He'd memorized every curve of her body, every desperate noise she'd ever made at his hand. Now, every time they were together, he didn't have to think about how he was touching her. Just _why_. Their ring-clad hands met by feeling alone, fingers lacing together and suspended by their bodies as they rocked against each other.

He felt Abby tracing over the scars on his back, running her fingers up and down as if they weren't there at all.

"_Abby_," he groaned, cupping her cheek with his free hand. Her tongue had found the scar that extended across his sternum, flicking back and forth against the raised skin until she could _feel_ him throbbing inside her, until his fingers bruised her hips with the effort to keep control.

"I…I…" Daryl panted, having a hard time getting the words out, getting _any_ words out at all when all he could think about was the wet, tight, heat, pulsing around him. The only words in his head were _Abigail Dixon_, repeating it over and over and delighting in how perfect the name sounded as it echoed through his mind.

"_I'm yours_," Abby immediately whispered, seeing the desperation in his cerulean eyes.

He nodded jerkily, pressing his forehead into hers and rubbing more firmly at her nub, unsure of how much longer he could hold out.

Abby's legs tightened around him abruptly, with one hand splayed out over the scars on his back and the other grasping firmly at his hair. "Daryl, I'm gonna…oh, god…I'm—"

The world spun out from underneath them.

Daryl swallowed Abby's moans as she convulsed around him, shaking in his arms and clutching to him tighter than ever. And as soon as he saw Abby's cheeks light up in that sharp burst of pleasure, he let his orgasm rip through him. Daryl bucked and growled as he came, releasing frantic _love you's_ against Abby's mouth that for once, he felt no embarrassment over.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Later that day, just after sunset, they sat at that same table and Daryl quietly proposed, "How about, if the people who left this food here come back, we just…make it work?"

Abby smiled softly at him. "What changed your mind?"

Instinct told Daryl to shrug, to look away bashfully and to ignore her question entirely. But instead he maintained her gaze, returning her smile when he said, "You."

They heard the familiar clanking of their noisemakers, and Daryl rose from the table, grabbing a jar of peanut butter, and mumbling about giving that mutt _one more chance_.

"_Abby! Abby!"_

She threw him his crossbow.

_"__Get your shit, and go! Just go, Abby!"_

_"__I'm not leaving you!"_

He saw her wavy, golden locks round the corner as she escaped the house, as he led a steady stream of walkers down the stairs and away from her because that was all he _could_ do. She was his. She was everything. And he wasn't going to let some fucking herd of walkers take her away from him. That was something he _knew_ he could protect her from.

People, though, people were unpredictable.

Daryl sprinted around to the front of the house, spotting first Abby's bag abandoned in the dirt and second a black sedan speeding off into the distance. He was running after the car before he'd even registered that she was gone, all the while refusing to let himself think that that last glimpse of her hair from around the corner would be his final memory of her.


	16. Part 16

_**Oh, the angst. Read and review!**_

**Part Sixteen**

Daryl ran all night. He ran until the sun was far over his head, raining sweltering heat down onto his sweat-streaked body. He ran until he hit a fork in the road, with no discernible tracks to be found. And then he just collapsed.

He slept sitting up, in the middle of the road, and in broad daylight. There wasn't a thought to find somewhere safe, or at least concealed. There weren't any thoughts at all, really. Nothing but heart-wrenching loss and crippling exhaustion.

When Daryl woke up, he was surrounded, but not by walkers.

_"__Why hurt yourself, when you can hurt other people?"_

He couldn't think of any good reason not to go with them. He couldn't think much at all.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

The first thing that registered when Abby awoke was a pounding headache. The bastard had hit her harder than he needed to, that was for sure. Next was the realization that she was in a dark, confined space. The trunk, she surmised, after taking a moment to listen to the familiar rumble of the car's engine.

She felt around the faux-vinyl of the trunk, and was surprised to find a crowbar well within her reach. The realization that she'd been allowed a weapon left her more concerned than the kidnapping itself. She'd never seen the man who took her, but he was either overly confident or painfully unintelligent. That, or he was incapable of forethought, and throwing her into his trunk had been a split-second decision. None of the above scenarios helped to ease her tension.

But if Abby was being honest with herself, she wasn't afraid. If anything, she was focused. Daryl's voice echoed through her head, reminding her to stay alert, pleading with her to _fight_. Fight to survive. Fight for _him._

_He'll be inconsolable right now. He can't outrun a car. God, he'll give up. He'll tell himself it was his fault. He'll get himself killed. He'll—_

_Not now._

Abby sucked in a deep breath, then let it go with a shudder. The car was slowing down. What sounded like branches were brushing up against it and the road wasn't paved anymore.

They came to a stop. Heavy footsteps came from the driver's side around to the back of the car, and Abby clutched the crowbar with two hands and held her breath.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

They walked all day, and all day Joe asked Daryl questions.

Daryl alternated between grunting in response, spitting out a yes or no, and ignoring the man entirely. Part of him feared that if he let himself think at all, even so little as to answer one of Joe's prodding questions, everything would flood back in at once.

He couldn't let that happen, because it would kill him. That much, he was sure of.

In the late afternoon, they came upon a group of a dozen or so walkers. But with so many men in the group, it was easy enough to take them down. Daryl was left with only one walker to handle personally.

But for the briefest moment, with the decaying beast stumbling towards him, his bow dropped down several inches from where it should have rightfully been aimed.

There was a moment of consideration, just a moment.

And then he took out the thing that had once been a man, hitting it right between the eyes. Joe shot him an inquisitive look, which Daryl immediately shrugged off, trudging after the rest of the group. The old man was the only one who'd seen him falter.

Daryl was not suicidal. He'd decided it a long time ago. He'd been young, so fucking young, and after his mom died everything went to shit. His dad beat him with so much fury behind every lash, whipped him with his belt until Daryl would pass out from the pain or blood loss or both. And every time, every fucking time, good old dad would tell him how his mom's death was _his_ fault. How she'd killed herself just to get away from his worthless, lazy ass. Will Dixon would shout into his youngest son's face that if Daryl had just taken better _care _of her, if Daryl had just been better period, then his mom would still be alive.

Two weeks after they buried his mom, he found Merle's stash. He took enough pills to put down a buck. Fitting, he remembered thinking. Put down like the animal he was. Daryl remembered sitting up in his makeshift bed and feeling the way his heart was beating out of control, relishing the numbness that was soaking through every fiber of his being. He remembered how good it felt.

But then a thought occurred to him. A small one at that, but it was enough to have him sprinting to the bathroom and forcing himself to puke up the drugs into the faded porcelain toilet.

_He wanted to live, if only to spite his dear old dad._

Daryl wasn't sure if that same reason had prompted him to kill the walker now laying motionless several yards behind him. His dad was long since dead, and everything remnant of Daryl's old life had been stripped away from him. But Daryl was not suicidal, if only to pay tribute to his eight-year-old self who'd nearly ended it all on a fucking whim.

_He never would have met her._

Joe announced that they'd be camping outside tonight, and the group veered off into the woods to find a suitable spot.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Abby _shrieked_ when the trunk lid sprung open. Shrieked and vaulted out of the cramped space like some ferocious feline in the African wild. She brought down the crowbar against the first body she came into contact with, smiling when she heard the pained _hmmph_ of her kidnapper. But then two large arms snaked around her body and she was trapped again.

She thrashed against them, she _screamed_ and _cursed_ with a fury she couldn't remember ever having felt.

"Calm down, _calm down_," the man holding her said, his voice was low and calm.

"Let me go you sick fuck!" Abby screamed.

She took in her surroundings, focusing first on her abductor. He was black, medium height, and dressed as a priest. _Bat-shit insane it is then. _

"Father, why the hell do you have a girl in your trunk?" the man holding her questioned, seeming only marginally as agitated as she was at the moment.

"She was running from a herd. I _saved_ her!" the priest insisted, tone indignant.

Abby saw red.

"_SAVED_ me? You fucking kidnapped me you sick bastard! I'll fucking kill you!" She was kicking out her legs again, desperate to get free, but the large arms remained steady as ever.

"Father?" the man holding her ground out, a threat.

"Well…I knew I couldn't get her to trust me fast enough. Not in time to save her from the herd. I _had_ to, you see—"

"He hit me over the head to knock me out, then threw me in the fucking trunk, is what he did!" Abby shouted, interrupting him. "That what you're into, _Father_? You like kidnapping girls? You figure that since you spotted me by myself, you could do whatever the fuck you want to me?"

And at that, the man holding her released her all at once. And though Abby stumbled, she reeled back almost immediately, putting distance between herself and the two men. The one who'd been holding her was tall and black. He was a muscular kind of wide, from years of killing walkers no doubt. His eyes were darting between her and the priest.

"Father…is what she's saying true?"

"Well, I had to save her, I—"

"She wasn't asking to be saved," the man cut him off.

"I had _people_ with me," Abby grit out, somewhat calmer now that she wasn't being restrained. "Well…a person. And he was right behind me. He had to lead the walkers away so we could make a run for it. I didn't need your help. And now…now he's _gone_, and—"

Abby's voice broke, to her dismay, and she stopped speaking entirely.

The soft sound of a baby babbling shifted their collective attention to a woman standing behind them. She had short, gray hair, a slight frame, and soft features. And she was holding a baby. A real, live, giggling and prattling and eyes bouncing about baby girl.

"Father," the woman spoke, "What did you do?"

"I didn't—I didn't mean—," the priest stuttered out, but the woman interrupted him.

"I'm sorry this happened," she said to Abby, placing a comforting hand on her forearm. Abby shrugged away from her touch warily.

"Save it. Doesn't change anything. Just point me in the direction of the funeral home and I'll be on my way," Abby spat.

"It's the middle of the night," the priest argued weakly, but Abby shot him a death glare.

Abby glanced up towards the sky. "No, just past 4am is my guess. That's early morning where I come from. The man you _took_ me from, he would have been chasing the car on foot. If I go back, I can pick up his trail. I'll find him." _I have to. I need to._

The gray-haired woman and the large black man shared a soulful sort of look, and then the woman said, "I can take you back there. Help you find him."

"I don't need your help," Abby replied with a forcefully even tone.

The woman nodded with understanding, but continued, "It's the absolute least we can do. Father Gabriel…he's been alone for a very long time. While he may have had good intentions, he went about it the wrong way. Let me drive with you back to the funeral home, help you find your friend. Please."

Abby bit on the inside of her cheek. She knew that her only real chance at finding Daryl would be to accept a ride from this woman. She couldn't catch up with him if she were on foot, he was too damn fast. And he would have been _sprinting_, if she knew anything about him at all.

"Alright," Abby sighed, still grimacing, "Let's go then."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It wasn't until the men were all sitting around the bonfire that Daryl's mind began to tick away.

It started with Len, a weasel-like, backwoods piece of trash who Daryl would have liked nothing more than to beat into his place.

"Man, I could go for a nice piece of tail right 'bout now," Len announced to the group.

A few of the men grumbled their agreement.

"Well, maybe if you didn't fuck 'em up so bad, we'd be able to keep 'em longer," the fat one said, and Daryl's blood ran cold.

"Can't help it if the cunt couldn't take a good fuckin'," Len shrugged.

"When's the last time y'all had one?" Daryl asked slowly, and a half-dozen sets of eyes darted over to him, sitting slightly farther from the fire than the rest. It was the first thing he'd willingly said all day.

Len cracked a rueful smile, "Man oh man, weeks at least."

_They said weeks. No point in lying about that if they don't know who I am to begin with. And whoever took her had a car. Been with these guys all day, ain't a chance they'd be walkin' their way through Georgia if they had a vehicle handy. They ain't the ones who took her._

_But Christ, if they found her first…_

"How 'bout you boy? Ya had any good pussy lately?" Len asked him.

"The good ones don't survive," Daryl rasped, then went back to busying himself with his bow. One sharp look from Joe, and no one else in the group spoke to him for the remainder of the night.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"I'm Carol, by the way," the gray-haired woman said softly as they drove.

"Abby."

There was silence again.

"How long until we get there?"

"A couple of hours. I imagine Father Gabriel took a longer route on your way in, to bypass that herd."

Abby didn't bother responding.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl lay on his back in the dirt and tried fruitlessly to sleep.

It didn't help at all that Len's words kept echoing through his mind. Because if Daryl was being at all realistic, Len was a perfect example of the type of men who thrived in the world, today. Ruthless, cruel, amoral…those were the cornerstones of survival now.

But Abby was none of those things. She was gentle, and kind, and Daryl was certain that wherever she was right now, she was in pain. _Good_ men didn't kidnap women.

He never thought losing someone could hurt like this.

Daryl's heart was pounding, and he sat straight up on the ground and pressed his palm against his chest the way _she_ used to do when she knew he was nervous. It was steadily getting worse.

He wondered if he'd feel the moment she died.

The night after Daryl had let Abby see his scars, he'd woken up in the very early hours of the morning and just looked at her. She'd been curled into his side, peaceful, and he remembered thinking that maybe this is the way things were supposed to be. Back at the prison, he'd overheard Rick and Glenn talking about love once. They'd said that when you really felt it, it was something that owned you. It left you connected to that person all the time. Even when they were out of sight. Even when they were just…gone.

Lying in bed with Abby, Daryl had decided he was a lost cause. Not lost because he'd never be able to love, but because loving Abby was inevitable. _Just look at her_, he remembered thinking, _how could anyone not love someone so perfect?_ He was drawn to her all the time. And slowly, it wasn't so ridiculous to think that there was some magical thread connecting them, that he and Abby were slowly being woven whole.

Daryl crawled, and then stumbled forwards, rising on two shaky legs. He headed out into the thick forest surrounding them, not even bothering to pick up his crossbow for the journey.

A few yards from the camp and he collapsed against the closest tree, sucking in wheezing huffs that couldn't even begin to quench the ache in his lungs. His thoughts were as disconnected as his gasping breaths.

_Need her…_

_Cant…_

_My fault…_

_Make it stop…_

_Failed her…_

_Ain't never gonna love anyone…_

_I'd do anything…_

_Please…_

Daryl wasn't all too sure who he was pleading with. Maybe god, maybe himself. He raked his nails painfully against his scalp, as his body shook with tearless sobs.

Now, he knew the word for what he was feeling, the way his heart was racing and he couldn't quite fill his lungs. Abby had taught him, that night in the house.

_"__I'm not going to leave you, Daryl."_

What a fucking joke. Like she had a choice, when the man she'd chosen to shack up with had managed to lose every single person who'd ever given a shit about him. _Dixons don't get to have nice things._ She'd put all her faith in him. She'd given him _everything_. And now…

_"__Breathe when I breathe."_

That is, if she was still breathing at all.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When they rolled up in front of the funeral home, Abby was out of the car before it had come to a full stop. Even in the haze of the early morning light, she could clearly see the tracks of the car that _priest_ had driven. And with them, the galloping tread of what could only be Daryl.

"He followed the car, see?" Abby said triumphantly, pointing down at the ground. There was something about Carol's demeanor that betrayed her doubt that they'd find what they were looking for, and it was putting Abby on edge.

Carol gave a nod of acceptance. "So, now we follow the tracks?"

"We'll take the car for now," Abby said contemplatively, "See how far we get."

Several miles down the road, they found the fork.

"Pull over," Abby demanded, before they reached the clearing. She trotted over to the crossing, holding out a hand to stop her companion before she mucked up the tracks.

"This is where he stopped," Abby said, mostly to herself. There was a clear indentation in the cakey dirt road, where he'd sat motionlessly on the ground. "But these marks all around him…people found him, it looks like. Surrounded him. But, if he taught me anything, looks like they all left together."

Carol quirked an eyebrow, either impressed or disbelieving, but said nothing.

"See that right there?" Abby asked, and Carol nodded. Abby was pointing to a sharp indentation in the ground, next to the supposed outline her man had left behind. "That's where he dropped his bow, when he sat down here. You can tell from the 'V' shape it makes."

"Your man carries a crossbow?" Carol asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Yup," Abby confirmed.

"And taught you to track, too," Carol said. It wasn't a question.

Abby nodded, "He's good at that sort of thing."

Carol frowned deeply at the dirt, but Abby chose to ignore her.

"At least he's not alone," she sighed, and frowned into the distance. She could see which direction they'd taken, at least. But they were following the railroad tracks, and that didn't leave a whole lot of opportunity to make footprints.

"You should go back to your…friends," Abby said after a long pause. "I can take it from here."

"You want to go out there alone?" Carol asked incredulously.

Abby shrugged, "I've been alone before. I can handle myself."

Abby walked over to the car and grabbed the canteen the priest had _gifted _her, as well as the crowbar and her knife.

"And anyways, I won't be alone for long. If I'm fast, I can catch up to him. Maybe even as early as tonight."

"I want to go with you," Carol said evenly, and Abby couldn't help her all-too-obvious grimace at the thought. She didn't trust easily, and certainly wasn't about to put her faith in an associate of the man who'd _kidnapped_ her only hours before.

"That's not necessary," Abby replied slowly.

Carol took a step forward, and Abby tensed.

"Look, I know you're probably less than thrilled with the idea, but you know as well as I do that a woman travelling alone is a huge risk. You need someone to watch your back, out here. And I feel somewhat…responsible, for you and your friend being separated. I'd like to help you find him. And once I do, I'll be on my way."

"You don't owe me anything," Abby said in a clipped voice.

"Of course I do, I –"

"And no offense, but you'd just be another thing I have to watch my back against," Abby cut her off.

Carol's expression betrayed nothing. "Honestly, you letting me come with you, it would be doing me a favor."

Abby's eyes narrowed, but she waited for the woman to continue. The more Carol pressed her, the more suspicious Abby became. _What kind of person would willingly sign up for a search and rescue mission, with nothing to gain themselves?_

_Daryl would. _

_But this woman was nothing like him._

"You saw how Father Gabriel was, and the baby…"

"Not yours," Abby commented. Not a question.

"No," Carol confirmed, "I could really use a break from it all. And helping you at the same time, it just makes sense."

"So you think this is going to be a vacation?" Abby spat. But then a hiss from behind her startled Abby out of her anger, and four walkers stumbled out from the tree line. Carol and Abby sprung into action instantly, and it was hardly a minute later that four lifeless corpses plopped to the ground with a sickening squelch.

Abby hissed out a frustrated breath, "I suppose…it wouldn't hurt to have another set of eyes."

Carol smiled at her, but Abby couldn't find it in her to return the gesture.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It took hours for Daryl's breathing to return to normal. He sat propped against the rough bark of the tree, staring out into the blackness and imagining he could see Abby walking towards him.

When rustling from behind him had startled Daryl into an upright position, Daryl had reached down and realized his knife was still on his belt. Hours later, he held it in a clenched fist, grinding the metallic tip into the palm of his free hand just hard enough that a small droplet of blood would trickle down his arm every few minutes.

Somehow, the sharp burst of pain as the metal ripped at his skin made everything else hurt a little less. Or at the very least, it focused the pain. With his palm throbbing, he could push thoughts of Abby to the back of his mind.

When he was five-years-old, Daryl had caught his big brother taking a razor to his wrists. He'd hardly understood it then, though it'd taken hours for Merle to soothe his sobbing form. Even at that age, he'd known what _hurt _looked like. Nearly a decade later, he'd asked his brother why he'd done it. If he'd been trying to end it all.

Merle had replied with a single lucid, nearly prophetic statement, before resuming his binge on cigarettes and women, _"Sometimes it don't hurt so bad when you're the one controllin' the pain."_

It was only by hugging his pack against his chest and pretending she was there with him that Daryl managed to find sleep.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"We should make camp here," Abby announced, and Carol murmured her agreement.

To her credit, Carol had neither complained nor lagged behind throughout their full day's hike. But it didn't sit well with Abby how eager she'd been to "help." There were still good people in the world. Abby was sure of that. But that didn't mean she was completely naïve. Carol had other intentions, that much was certain. But Abby couldn't be bothered to search them out when she had Daryl to find.

"So how did you meet him?" Carol asked quietly, later that night.

Abby eyed her warily for a moment, but then acquiesced.

"I got separated from my group, so I was staying in a house a few towns over. Was just looking out the window one day, checking for walkers, and I saw him stumbling around in the middle of the street. It was obvious enough that he was _alive_, so when he went down, I ran out and got him inside. He was hurt—"

"Shot?" Carol interrupted, and Abby gave her a quizzical look. _Strange thing to assume._

"No, ripped his leg open on the side of a car. But it was infected. He'd taken some meds for it, but it turns out one of the neighbors had been hiding their ecstasy stash in a bottle marked as antibiotics. When he came to he was pretty damn high, scared I'd leave him…"

"So he was alone, too? Did he mention any people he'd been with before?" Carol asked, all too keen.

"Not too much. Aside from his best friend, Rick," Abby replied, and she didn't fail to notice the way Carol flinched at the statement. "He thinks everyone in his group died," Abby continued, "Even though he doesn't know for sure. Mostly, he talked about his brother, his parents. How he grew up."

"No wife or girlfriend he had to get back to?" Carol asked next.

Abby snorted a laugh, "Nope, he was pretty clear about that. I was the first."

Carol's expression grew cold, and Abby realized then that up until now, Carol had only referred to Daryl as her 'friend.' But he was so, so much more than that. _He was her husband._ The obvious displeasure that flickered across Carol's eyes in that moment only served to deepen Abby's discomfort.

"You should get some sleep," Abby said after a while, "I'll take first watch."


	17. Part 17

_**Leave all the reviews, please!**_

**Part Seventeen**

_There was something so good about watching her like this. When she was preoccupied, taking down walkers left and right, and generally just being Abby. _

_It felt strange to be so close to someone without having ever been, well, _close_ to them. Maybe they'd gotten each other off a couple of times, but Daryl knew from experience that a few brief rushes of bliss did not a relationship make. _

_Hell, she probably didn't even think of him like that. He was just a warm body; a companion for the time being. And maybe sometimes the things she'd say to him made him think it was something more, but Daryl knew better than anyone that people didn't always say what they meant. She was probably just placating him, keeping him happy enough to stick around._

_As if he'd ever be able to leave _her. _ It wasn't like going it on his own had been such a smart choice the first time, let alone the last. But it was getting hard to ignore the way his eyes were always drawn to her, or the way his anxiety spiked whenever she was out of his sight._

_It wasn't normal to get turned on by watching a girl kill things, was it? Daryl knew that in his head, but the rest of his body didn't seem to care much. He refused to acknowledge how he counted the seconds when he was upstairs and she was down, searching through the house. And he certainly would never admit to the fact that when he went through those rooms, he was looking for things for _her._ A better coat, he was thinking, and maybe some warmer gloves and socks. He'd noticed how she rubbed at her hands and arms when they were together, perpetually cold, and he didn't like that at all. _

_When the Governor had rolled up to the prison gates, he hadn't been afraid. Anxious, sure. And even more so determined, and focused. But when he heard Abby scream from downstairs, Daryl knew real terror. He took the stairs two at a time, charging into darkness with no thought to the risks. He blindly pulled the dead off of her crumpled form, and scooped Abby into his arms._

_Light, he needed light. Daryl slammed the cellar door behind him and came crashing down to the floor. _

_There was blood. God, there was so much fucking blood, and he couldn't hold pressure on all the bites at once. She was choking, sputtering, and staring up at him with near-vacant eyes. But they accused him all the same. _Where were you? I needed you! This is your fault.

_Daryl didn't even register the tears falling from his face to hers._

_It wasn't long at all before she stilled in his arms._

_Daryl held his breath, a beat._

_There was a loud splintering sound from behind him as the dead beat down the door. But Daryl didn't startle. He didn't so much as stand._

_He knew wherever he was going, Abby wouldn't be there. But maybe he would at least get a glimpse of her as he passed—_

Daryl woke with a choked off gasp. The rest of the men were still asleep, and he thanked God for that, because if they'd seen him thrashing around his sleep and waking up crying, they probably would have killed him right then. No one had time for the weak, nowadays.

It was still darker than dark, morning a long time away, and obscenely quiet. Daryl sat still and listened to his pounding heart for a moment. And a moment later, he realized it hadn't only been his dream that had shocked him awake.

No, there was noise coming from the woods. Not the kind of noise that walkers or animals might make. It was…humming. The familiarity of it struck him hard, and he was on his feet before he could think twice about it.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Carol stirred, then woke. Abby was still sat up next to her, surveying the woods.

"I can take watch," Carol said softly. "Just going to go to the bathroom first."

Abby nodded idly, attentive only to the surrounding forest.

Carol stood, and was about to disappear from view. She looked back at Abby briefly. "You shouldn't do that, you know."

Abby cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do what?"

"Hum. It's loud, you'll attract attention."

Abby frowned, then shrugged. "Sorry, don't even realize I'm doing it most of the time."

Carol wasn't gone half a minute before the tune resumed, cresting over the minuet of crickets and small animals burrowing down for the coming day.

The sharp snap of a twig from across the clearing startled Abby alert. She was immediately on her feet, knife readied and in hand, moving towards the sound of the noise.

They froze when they saw each other.

Daryl stopped breathing, and his steps faltered. And there was a moment, a fleeting one, where he had no doubt at all that he was hallucinating. It was too good, she was too good a thing to just be _gifted_ to him, standing there in the middle of the clearing and looking exactly as he'd left her. In a subsequent thought, he figured he must be dead. And if dead meant she was really here, _smiling_, in front of him…well, that would be alright by him. More than alright.

She started moving first, flinging her knife to the ground and sprinting towards him before Daryl could be thawed from his moment of blind disbelief.

"_Daryl!"_ she shouted. It was too loud, but neither cared.

He took his first step forward, unsteadily. He was moving towards her now, but slowly. Doubt still flooded him in torrents and he couldn't let himself hope for this if he wasn't sure. The hope alone would kill him, he knew that with certainty.

But when Abby's body collided with his, there could be no mistaking it.

He held her at arm's length by her shoulders, examining her.

"Abby?" he whispered. She was nodding rapidly, tears streaming down her face, and Daryl looked utterly lost.

"Yeah," she whispered wetly, "I'm here. It's really me."

Abby could pinpoint the exact second he let himself believe her. It was the change in his eyes, mostly. The way they lit up and went wide, like she'd righted his world with the simplest of statements.

She could only memorize the relief on his features for a second before he was crushing her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a grip that would have been stifling were she not so fucking happy to see him in the first place.

"You're here," he was babbling into her shoulder. And she could feel the wetness there, but she'd never mention it to him. She knew better. "You're here, you're really here."

Quickly, it became. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Abby, I'm sorry…"

But she shushed him gently, weaving her fingers into his hair and stroking one hand down his back until his shaking quieted.

"It wasn't your fault," she told him, "I'm here, now. I love you. Everything's okay."

It was several minutes before Daryl could will himself to pull away from Abby enough to look her in the eye.

"What…what happened? Did they hurt you?" he asked hurriedly.

But her hand's movements against him were as smooth and steady as her words when she reassured him. "He didn't hurt me. Didn't even touch me, I promise. Just thought he was protecting me from the herd. _Nothing_ happened."

"I love you," he rasped against her lips, unable to decide between kissing her and saying those words. "I love you. Fuck, Abby, I love you so much."

There was a rustle from behind them, and then Daryl was gazing over Abby's shoulder, his face a picture of confusion.

"Carol?"

The gray-haired woman rushed over to them with a wide smile, stepping into the small space between Abby and Daryl and wrapping her arms excitedly around him.

He didn't return the hug, just tensed and bore down, hoping she'd stop.

And she did, after several moments, stepping back and jostling Abby further from Daryl to his immediate disapproval.

Daryl immediately side-stepped her, going to Abby's side. He angled his body so she was behind him, but just slightly. There was something in the way Carol was watching Abby that left him unsettled. The expression she had on now, he knew he'd seen it before. She'd looked at Merle that way, back at the prison.

He hadn't understood it much then, either.

But with Daryl's body pressed mostly into hers, Abby did have time to notice one small detail.

"Where the hell is your bow?" Abby said incredulously. Daryl turned to face her, putting his back to Carol and excluding her from the conversation. "And your knife?" Abby continued, after giving him a better look.

"Guess I forgot 'em…" Daryl replied quietly.

"Daryl_,_ you can't just _do_ that. What if there'd been walkers out here?"

"I…" his shoulders slumped. "S'been a bad day," he mumbled, reaching out to cup her cheek. Her expression softened instantly, and she leaned into his touch.

"I know," Abby murmured back, "I know."

"Was dreaming 'bout you. In the basement of that house. Dreamt I didn't get there in time. And then I woke up and I…I _thought_ I could hear you humming. Didn't even think before I was up lookin' for you," he explained softly. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Abby said gently. Daryl traced her lips with the tips of his fingers.

"So I guess this is your man?" Carol suddenly interrupted.

Daryl spun around to look at her, and she took a step back, surprised by his abrupt movement.

"Husband," Daryl corrected, holding Carol's gaze.

It took everything Abby had to bite back her smirk at the way Carol's mouth fell open in shock.

He took her stunned silence as permission to change the subject. "How'd you find me?" he asked Abby.

"Carol was with the guy who took me. She drove me back to the funeral home, and then I tracked you from there. Saw the spot where the road split…" Daryl flinched at the memory, but nodded. "Carol _offered_ to help me find you."

"She knew it was me you were lookin' for?"

Carol huffed audibly, as if to say, _I'm right here._

"I never gave a name," Abby said.

Daryl's eyes narrowed, and Abby couldn't help but feel giddy that he seemed just as unconvinced as she was.

"We have a place," Carol said, rejoining the conversation. "We could all go back there, it's safe enough." Her eyes were only on Daryl. But Daryl, in turn, looked to Abby.

"Yeah, not too keen on shacking up with the crazy priest who knocked me out and kidnapped me last night," Abby bit back sarcastically.

Daryl smirked briefly, but then his hold on Abby's hand tightened and she could see the panic fly across his face.

"Wha-?" she began to ask.

"You can't be here," Daryl cut her off. "Neither of ya. The guys I'm with…they're dangerous. They find you here, they'll take you. Go back with Carol, I'll meet you there when I have a chance to get away."

"Why were you with them to begin with?" Carol asked.

Daryl looked between the women, searching for answer. _Why would he team up with a bunch of rapists and murderers? Probably 'cuz he was more like them than he wanted to admit. Or maybe he was just too fucking depressed to worry much about who he was going along with. Maybe he was hoping they'd kill him too._

"He was alone," Abby defended, settling the matter. "But why can't you just come with us now?" Abby continued, clearly worried.

"They can track," Daryl sighed, "And if I take off in the middle of the night, they might take it as an offense. Come after me. I'd lead 'em right to you."

Abby nodded thoughtfully. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Abby…" Daryl began in a growl, but she interrupted immediately.

"No, Daryl. If these guys are dangerous enough that you wouldn't want me near them, then there's no chance in hell I'm leaving you alone with them."

"What other option we got?" Daryl sighed dejectedly.

"I'll stick around," Abby said, and when Daryl opened his mouth to protest, "I'll keep my distance. They won't even know I'm there. If they turn on you, or if something goes wrong, I can step in. You need someone watching your back. We'll just wait it out and find a time where you can get away from them. That, or kill them."

Daryl eyed Abby expressively. "I don't like it."

Abby stifled a grin. "Didn't think you would."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and after a moment of indecision, "Carol, you good to stick around too?"

Daryl was still more than uneasy about the way Carol was acting. And hell, they'd never had a chance to talk about her murdering two of their own before Rick had banished her and the Governor had shown up with a vengeance. But Abby was safer even with a pissed-off Carol at her side than with no one at all.

"Of course," Carol immediately replied, with a smug smile.

"Alright…thanks," Daryl said awkwardly. "Give us a minute?"

Carol frowned deeply, but quickly reigned in her displeasure, and headed back to their makeshift camp.

"Dar—"

"Don't let your guard down," he whispered.

"You know I won't."

"She ain't actin' right."

"I noticed."

"Keep your knife on you."

"I _will,_" Abby scoffed exaggeratedly, and this time Daryl allowed himself a small smile.

He pulled her into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. "You were gone," he whispered.

"I found you."

"I thought you were…"

"I'm here, now."

"Couldn't take it," he rasped, "Couldn't take losin' you again. Nearly killed me the once."

"You won't lose me," Abby tried to assure him, and Daryl let out a disbelieving scoff. "You _won't_. If getting kidnapped by a psychotic brief couldn't keep us apart, then I can't imagine anything else would, right? I'm your wife. I'm _yours_. And you're going to keep me, Daryl Dixon."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Be careful."

She kissed him squarely on the mouth. "Likewise."

"The camp's a quarter mile due south. We'll be up and movin' at dawn. Be ready."

"We will be."

Daryl began to walk back towards the edge of the clearing, then abruptly spun back around and hoisted Abby easily into his arms.

"I love you," he mumbled into her skin. "Don't…don't go anywhere."

"Never," Abby replied. She said it like a promise. And even though Daryl knew they couldn't promise each other that sort of thing, he let himself believe her.


	18. Part 18

_**Let's all stop and remember that TWD comes back on Sunday. And also, Sunday is my birthday. Coincidence? I think not. Read and review!**_

**Part Eighteen**

Daryl hardly slept. Knowing Abby was so close, _so close_, but not at his side… Christ, his whole body was buzzing. He needed her. With him. _Now._

And as soon as the first peals of sunlight peaked through the trees, Daryl was up and in the woods, crossbow in hand.

True to her word, Abby hadn't slept much either. It was hard to relax with Carol as her primary means of protection during the night. And after a couple hours of no success, Abby had simply instructed the older woman to go back to sleep. Better off that at least one of them was well rested.

Though, it was more than a little strange how easily Carol slept that night. No camp, no protector other than a woman she'd just met, and men who would rape and kill her if they had the chance less than a mile away. Carol awoke at dawn, and Abby gave her a curt nod before creeping off into the woods. "Breakfast," is what she'd told Carol. _Daryl_, is what she'd been thinking.

There was some sort of magnetic pull between the pair of them, Daryl was sure of that. He found her in no time at all.

Abby was in his arms and kissing him before he could rasp out a _good morning_, but Daryl hardly minded. she was _here_, with him, and that was all that mattered.

His hands ghosted under her shirt and jacket, tracing the scar on her back and pulling her closer to him. "Need you," he whispered.

Abby nodded, "Now."

Daryl took her up against a tree, with rough bark digging into her back and her jeans ripped off and collecting dirt on the forest floor. He came when she did, already so in tune with every twitch and curve of her body, every small, whimpering sound she'd make as she approached release, that it took no effort at all to hold out for her.

Their coupling, this time, was less lust and more a communion. Abby was his home. The way the soft tips of her hair would graze his shoulder as he moved inside of her. The way she could tell him she loved him as much with her silvery eyes as she could with her pink, plump lips. The way her fingertips always went to his hair, simultaneously soothing and arousing.

"_Christ, _Abby," he barely managed to whisper, when he felt her pulse around him.

"I'm yours," she moaned into their shared air, "Love you, god, love you…"

She reminded him of it over and over, as he released inside of her with a shuddering moan. And even with Abby gently caressing his scalp, and whispering comforting words into the space just beneath his ear, it took him longer than usual to even out his breathing. And even longer than that to pull away from her, let her down onto her own two feet and allow her to venture out of his arm's reach.

"Be ready," he told her, knowing that he'd have to leave her now. And Daryl pressed one last, lingering kiss to her ring finger, before turning his back on her again.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl tracked a cottontail until the sun had warmed up the earth beneath his feet. But just as he had the animal in his sights, just as he let loose his arrow, it fell to the ground, dead.

He spun around to find none other than Len, looking smug as ever, and with his bow still raised.

"Claimed," Len announced, going to pick up the rabbit.

"I've been trackin' it since dawn!" Daryl argued.

Len got in his face, pushing until they were nearly chest to chest. "Rules of the hunt don't mean _shit_ out here. I claimed the rabbit, so it's mine."

"The hell it is," Daryl growled, shoving Len back a step.

Just then, Joe meandered out of the trees, "Problem, boys?"

Daryl looked between the two men, and before Len could open his mouth, sighed deeply and said, "Ain't no problem. It's yours. Take it."

Len shot him a suspicious glare, and Joe a look more akin to surprised curiosity. But the truth was, Daryl couldn't be bothered to fight about something so petty right now. Not when he was feeling this good. Every time he touched that woman, she lingered on him like a drug, a voice in the back of his mind that told him he was _good_ and _hers_.

The other bowman shoved past Daryl and headed back towards camp, and Daryl gave Joe an innocent shrug before following after him.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Abby and Carol followed a good mile behind Daryl's gang, sticking to the forest while the men stayed on the train tracks.

"So you met up with Daryl just after he left the prison…"

"Mmhmm."

"And got separated from him at the funeral home."

"Yup."

"So what happened in between?"

Abby shot a side-long glance at the overly-curious woman. "We just went from place to place."

There was a brief pause, before, "Like where?"

_Christ, this woman really can't take a hint_.

"The woods, then a moonshine shack, then the woods, then some cabin inhabited by a sociopath, then the woods again, then the funeral home," Abby quickly summarized.

"And he told you about the prison?"

"And the farm and the road and the quarry," Abby shot back, exasperated. This wasn't the first time they'd been through this.

"But you didn't recognize me?" _Ah, there it was._

"Daryl never described anyone by looks," Abby explained, "He doesn't pay attention to that sort of thing. At least for the most part."

Carol frowned at that. "Then how did he describe us?"

Abby shrugged, focused more on the ground than the conversation, "By how you _were_." And when Carol clearly didn't understand her meaning, "Like Rick- Rick I'm pretty sure I could pick out just by the way he walks, or squints his eyes when he's thinking. That's the kind of stuff Daryl picked up on, so that's what he would tell me."

"So what did he say about me?" Carol immediately asked.

There was a pregnant pause before Abby carefully said, "He told me your husband used to hit you. And that after he died, your daughter was lost soon after. He told me about trying to find her, and what happened after you _did_ find her."

A quick glance in Carol's direction revealed the woman's extreme displeasure at what Abby had just revealed. It wasn't the frown of someone reliving bad memories. No, Carol's face had betrayal written all over it. _How dare Daryl talk about me to her? He had no right._

But Abby continued anyways, "Daryl told me you were one of the only people that wasn't afraid of him from the start. Back on the farm. But the way he saw it, that was only because you thought he was the same kind of man as your husband. He said there was a time when you were arguing, and you flinched like he was about to hit you. That stayed with him, you thinking he was like that. Like the man we both know he grew up with."

Carol's expression was a muddle of anger and hurt and regret. Abby was starting to feel guilty about how unhappy this topic of conversation was making Carol. Sure, the grey-headed woman seemed a bit too possessive of the man she was now married to, and that put Abby on edge. But above all else, Abby had never been cruel.

"He told me you were his first friend," Abby offered, trying to extend an olive branch of sorts.

She gave Carol a small smile, but it was returned with a look of barely concealed loathing and disgust. Abby was confused, for a moment, until she realized the root of the problem. _Friend_. Carol wasn't the least bit happy with that choice of wording, particularly since it had originated in Daryl's own mind.

Giving up on maintaining any sort of pleasant conversation, Abby returned her focus to the group of men trudging along ahead of them.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"Look, you might be wanting an explanation," Joe began, "Going it alone, that ain't an option nowadays. Still, it is survival of the fittest. That's a paradox right there. So I laid out some rules of the road to keep things from going Darwin every couple hours. Keep our merry band together and stress-free. All you got to do is claim. That's how you mark your territory, your prey, your bed at night. One word, claimed."

Daryl grunted noncommittally.

"So what's the plan, Daryl?"

"How so?"

"You're with us now, but you ain't soon?"

"Yep."

"So what's the plan?"

"Just looking for the right place is all."

"Oh we ain't good enough for you, huh?"

"Some of you ain't exactly friendly," Daryl scoffed, eyeing Len from a distance.

"You ain't so friendly yourself," Joe countered, "You know you need a group out here."

"Maybe I don't."

"No, you do. You should be with us. People don't got to be friendly. We don't have to be nice. We don't have to be brothers in arms. We just got to follow the rules. You claim. If you steal, you keel. I know that sounds a little funny, but nobody laughs when something goes missing. And you don't lie. 'Cause that's a slippery slope indeed."

"What happens if you break 'em?"

"Oh, you catch a beatin'," Joe replied calmly, "The severity of which depends upon the offense and the general attitude of the day. But that don't happen much 'cause when men like us follow rules and cooperate a little bit, well, the world becomes ours."

Joe paused. They'd reached a bend in the road, a sharp turn they couldn't see around from this angle. But there was a rustling in the distance. A familiar one.

"Y'all hear that?" Daryl called forwards.

"Hold up!" Joe demanded, and everyone stopped.

And then the first reanimated corpse stumbled from the tree line. It was one, and then it was forty, a massive herd moving towards them with remarkable speed. The men were immediately sprinting in the opposite direction, running off into the woods with no clear destination in mind. They couldn't take on a group like that, not if they wanted to survive it.

Daryl was by far the fastest, leading the way with Joe and Len close behind. A quarter mile in and he hit the edge of a cliff, a cliff steeper and rockier than the one he'd plummeted off during his search for Sophia. And there was no water to cushion the fall, not even some healthy looking bushes. Daryl came to a grinding halt and looked behind him. Joe and Len were nearly at his side, and there was no feasible way around this obstacle, unless they doubled back through the herd and hoped for the best.

They were trapped.

Bow and knife would never be fast enough against this many walkers, but Daryl drew anyways, ready to go down fighting. He lunged at the closest pair of geeks, ambling towards them with teeth snapping. Two deliberate strokes and they dropped to the ground. Len had shot three through the head, and Joe was shooting up a storm, but already they were being pushed back.

_Jump. Just jump. Broken leg's better than dead._

Daryl spotted her first, over the heads of the incoming herd.

"CLAIMED!" he screamed, before she began shooting. Abby emptied her clip into the twenty or so walkers surrounding them, taking down at least half before they'd so much as registered what was happening.

The eyes of the undead focused on her at about the same time the rest of Joe's gang did. But that didn't faze Abby one bit. No, her gun was immediately tucked away, and she was pushing forward towards the walkers, knife wielded dangerously.

The men watched, dumbfounded, as Abby took down one body after the next. She moved as if she were dancing, spinning round between snapping teeth and clawing nails to sing her blade into decaying skulls.

Daryl had no time at all to let his fear register before he was at her side. He and Abby stood back to back, taking down corpse after corpse with the ease and coordination of long-time partners.

In seconds it was done, and Abby finally managed to suck in a lungful of air. She hadn't done much thinking, when she'd heard the men shouting their retreat. She'd only thought of _him_. And despite Carol's protests, she hadn't hesitated a second before going sprinting after them, determined to reconnect with Daryl or die trying.

Her husband immediately had his hands on her, brushing over her blood-splattered body for any signs of injury. "You bit?" he ground out worriedly, "Scratched?"

"I'm fine," Abby assured him, "None of them even got close. You're a good teacher." She winked at him, and he blushed.

Snapping twigs were the first sign of Joe and Len making their way over, and Daryl instantly pushed Abby behind his body, shielding her from the men as much as he could manage.

"She's claimed," Daryl reiterated threateningly.

"Oh, is she now? And who is this sweet piece?" Len drawled.

"My wife," Daryl grunted with eyes narrow. But hearing the words, Joe cracked him a wide smile.

"Now that _is _interesting," Joe exclaimed.

"What, we just supposda take your word for it?" Len scoffed.

"Aw come on now, Len. Just look at their hands! That's a mighty fine diamond ma'am."

Abby gave Joe an appraising look, before speaking for the first time, "Daryl picked it out."

"Shoulda known it was a piece of tail that had you all twisted 'round," Len said, "And she is a good'un." He leered at Abby's mostly concealed body, and Abby glared at him severely.

"I'm his," Abby said firmly, as Daryl simultaneously growled, "She's mine."

"No one's contesting that, Daryl. See marriage, now that's a claim. That's as strong a claim as anything."

Daryl was tense beside her, still deliberating the best move. But Abby stepped in, "I appreciate that you feel that way. But if the rest of your men don't agree, well then, Daryl and I can just be on our way."

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty," Joe said slowly, waiting for the rest of the men to arrive. Once they were all stood around him, gawking blatantly at the first woman they'd seen in weeks, Joe continued, "Now boys, this here girl is Daryl's wife. He claimed her when he put that ring on her, and he claimed her just now. So she's his, plain and simple."

Joe looked directly at Abby, "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Abby."

"Well, Abby, I can't force the two of y'all to stay. But I do believe that there is safety in numbers. And I can promise you that if you _do_ decide to stick around, you'll be perfectly safe. You're Daryl's." Joe gave her a wide smile. "Plus it's clear enough y'ain't dead weight. Took on twenty walkers by your lonesome and lived to tell the tale. And we can always use another capable set of hands."

"I'm sure," Abby agreed.

Next to her, Daryl had his arms crossed over his chest, and was eyeing the group sharply. _If we leave now, they could follow us. They _will _follow us. Guys like this wouldn't pass up on a girl like her._

"Guess it's settled then," Daryl said, "We're with you."


	19. Part 19

_**Did anyone else scream and cry during that premiere, because GODDAMN. Here's part 19, y'all! Read and review!**_

**Part Nineteen**

"Right here, boys. This will be our abode for the evening," Joe announced, pointing out an abandoned garage to their left.

There was an awkward moment where the men went about claiming their space for the evening, but Daryl simply kept Abby close, waiting it out and then settling their packs down on the floor.

"So how is it that the two of you got separated to begin with?" Joe asked, striding towards them.

"Oh, you know. Some men knocked me out and stuffed me in a trunk, that sort of thing," Abby said casually. It took all she had not to grin widely when his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Was distractin' a herd, so she could make a break for it," Daryl explained, eager to follow her lead. "They grabbed her before I got back 'round to her. Saw the car speedin' off. Chased it 'til the road split. S'where y'all found me."

It was just enough of the truth. The other men were eyeing them curiously, and Joe was practically beaming. The smile didn't reach his eyes, though. It never did on men like him.

"So how'd ya get away?" Len barked in Abby's direction.

He took a few faltering steps towards them, clearly trying to hide his limp. But Abby could see the blood seeping through the bottom of his jeans, even if the rest were plenty distracted.

She smiled wickedly at him. "How do you think? I slit their throats."

The general consensus of the room seemed to fall somewhere in between dubious and impressed, but for that Abby was thankful. She wanted them to believe she was lethal. And considering her slight frame and angelic features, that was a stretch at best. So even if they had the word _dangerous_ in mind, or just plain unstable, then that would do, for now.

The men settled down around them, going about their own business. And Daryl nearly had a heart attack when Abby first went to move away from him. He shook his head at her rapidly, but she gave him as placating a look as she could. Her face said _trust me._ So eventually, he relinquished his grasp on her wrist.

His eyes followed her like a tracking beam as she grabbed her pack, and walked over to where Len was sitting on the ground, leaning against the vehicle he'd claimed as his bed for the night.

"Tired of him, already? Can't say I ain't surprised," he taunted.

But Abby hardly flinched at his crudeness, instead crouching in front of him to look him in the eye.

"Was it a bite?" she questioned softly.

The man immediately stiffened, face contorting in anger. "The fuck are you insinuatin', princess?"

"Easy," Abby soothed when his volume got out of hand. "Len…it's Len right?"

He gave her a reluctant nod.

"Len, I'm a nurse. And if this cut isn't from a walker, like you say, then it's still bad enough to be bleeding several hours later. I'd like to take a look at it, if you don't mind."

He glared her down. "Why?"

"A couple reasons," she mused, "If the cut's deep enough, and you lose enough blood, you might die tonight while we're sleeping and turn. Or even if you make it through the night, you'd leave a blood trail in our wake tomorrow, attracting walkers left and right."

Len continued to frown starkly at her, like a petulant child.

"Or," she said lightly, "You could let me take a look at you, and stitch that up real quick. I'm great at giving stitches. Betcha you won't even feel it."

"What's in it for you?"

"Oh, self-preservation mostly," Abby replied without thinking. "But how's about, if you can make it through me stitching you up without staring at my tits, we'll call it even?"

The man seemed to brood on the offer for a moment, keenly aware that admitting to needing help was a sign of weakness. But Abby just kept on smiling softly at him, encouraging him with her eyes.

He grinned cheekily at her, "Need me to take my pants off, sweetheart?"

Abby snorted. "You wish. Now let's see." Len rolled up his left pant-leg to reveal a nasty, jagged gash running down the length of his calf. Abby ran some water over the wound, clearing away the blood still trickling forth just enough for her to inspect him. It wasn't a bite, at least. That was something. Abby was gentle as she felt along the edge of the incision, impressed that Len's eyes were on her hands and not her breasts.

"Daryl, do you mind helping me?" Abby called behind her, and was hardly surprised when he was immediately at her side, awaiting instruction. Anything to be closer to her, more readily available to fling his body between hers and Len's if the need arose.

They'd attracted a bit of an audience now. Joe had meandered over, leaning against the car and looking down on them. And the others watched them from their claimed spaces, ever the curious.

"You nicked an artery, that's why it's bleeding so much," Abby explained, "Went through some of the muscle too. Must be painful."

Len shrugged halfheartedly. "M'fine. Hardly noticed it."

Abby smirked, then motioned for Daryl to kneel beside her. She handed him some gauze. "Need you to hold the wound open while I stitch up that cut," Abby told him. "Think you can do that?"

"'Course," Daryl confirmed.

"This part is going to hurt," Abby warned Len.

But he only glared at her once more, daring her to threaten his ability to withstand pain. "Jus' get on with it."

Quickly, and with little finesse, Daryl hooked two fingers into the cut on Len's leg, and pulled apart slightly. Abby worked efficiently, stitching the artery, clearing away the blood, sterilizing the wound. She indicated for Daryl to release Len, and though the man hardly made a sound throughout the agonizing process, he did release a relieved, sighing groan once Daryl had freed him. It was only seconds more before Abby was done, sitting back on her haunches to inspect her work.

Daryl handed her a rag and some water so she could clean off her hands. He hated seeing her like that, covered in blood. That was the stuff that made up his nightmares these days.

Joe nodded approvingly from overhead, "You're just full of surprises, ain't ya girl?"

Abby cocked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"S'good work," Joe acknowledged, before heading back over to the truck bed he'd claimed. The other men seemed to take that as the cue to mind their own damn business, and suddenly it was just the three of them on the ground, speaking in hushed tones.

"The stitches inside your leg dissolve, but you'll need to take these out in about a week," Abby instructed, pointing at his leg. "I can do that part for you, if you want. A lot of my patients used to tell me that getting the stitches out was worse than having them put in."

Again, the man was focused on her face, and nowhere else. Abby patted herself on the back for the small victory. _One down…_

"Mm, hardly felt 'em," Len admitted thoughtfully, then immediately resumed his resting glare, embarrassed to have let what might otherwise have passed for a compliment slip.

Abby stood up hastily, Daryl still plastered to her side. "Just let me know if they're bothering you."

They were already walking away, backs towards him, but Abby could have sworn she heard a muttered "_Thanks._"

Small victories, that's what they were after.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It was late at night now, crickets chirping up a storm, but Daryl refused to sleep. Abby was dozing in and out beside him, leaning against his shoulder with her face buried in his neck.

The closeness was torture, though he wouldn't have it any other way. He _wanted_ her. Christ, he wanted Abby all the time. But this was different, more potent. This was fueled by testosterone and pride and lust. He wanted to _mark_ her, to breed her, to prove to each and every one of these scum bags that she was _his_.

Daryl pressed his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent. She was stirring against him, slowly coming back to his world. And he lightly brushed her cheek with his thumb, easing the process. He kissed her before her eyes had fluttered open, telling himself he just needed a taste. But then her lips parted invitingly, and soon their tongues were exploring each other's mouths, heart rates picking up like wildfire.

"Daryl," she breathed against his lips, lower than a whisper. But he heard her. Daryl fisted one hand into her sweater and pressed his forehead into hers, trying his best to quell the buzzing of his veins.

_Not here. Not now. It's not safe. Get a fucking hold of yourself._

"I know," he rasped, without her having to say anything.

She pressed a hand to his chest, waiting patiently for him to calm.

"Don't cozy up to Len too much," Daryl said after a while, "He's raped girls before. They all have."

"I know what he is, Daryl. But now, he owes me a debt. Could be useful," Abby said.

"Still outnumbered, though."

"I'll have Joe on our side soon enough. It's clear already that he wants _you_ here. Probably dying for someone intelligent to talk to. Just have to play him the right way."

Daryl blushed at the easy way she complimented him, and Abby noticed.

"What?" she asked softly.

"Ya really think that, huh?"

"That we can play him? Of course."

"No…that I'm…smart," Daryl struggled to get out, trying to overcome his embarrassment.

Abby smiled gently at him, "You know I do. I've said as much before, haven't I?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, but…guess I hadn't heard it much before you." He kissed her hair gently. "Love you." He paused for a beat, then asked, "What about Carol?"

"That…is another problem."

"Ain't safe for her to be out there alone."

"If they find her…"

"Can't let that happen."

"But the only way to avoid it is if she just…goes."

"She ain't gonna do that without a fight."

"I know…but is it really worth the risk anymore? One person won't be able to save us if these lot turn on us. One person can't save us from a herd. And even if she tried, there'd be no one to claim her afterwards. These guys, they'd just…"

"Tomorrow. If she's still close, we'll find her, tell her to go," Daryl decided, "And you. You stay close to me."

"Arm's length?"

"Closer," Daryl growled.

Abby stifled a giggle and cozied up against him once more, letting her eyes drift shut.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl woke up cold.

It was early in the morning, just before the sun would come up. Daryl woke up at this hour naturally; his body knew when it was time to go out and hunt. But panic hit him like an ice pick through the gut, and he was on his feet in an instant. Abby was gone.

A hurried glance around the room told him that most of the men were still asleep, the ones he could see anyways. But she wasn't among them, wasn't inside the garage at all. He barreled towards the door, fully intending to plummet straight through it if that would get him to Abby faster, but then he heard a sound that made his heart leap painfully.

_Her voice_.

And she wasn't crying, wasn't begging or screaming or sobbing to be let go. She was just talking, in that soft, easy voice of hers.

Daryl cracked open the door, just slightly, and found Joe and Abby sitting on the front steps of the garage with their backs to him, calmly chatting away.

"You're shitting me," she was saying lightly. "A banker?"

"I shit you not," Joe laughed, "That was my job."

"Bet that did you a load of good when the world fell apart."

"Apart? Nah, the way I see it, things finally fell together."

"How's that?"

"People like us, we were made for the way things are now. Few simple rules, and a little cooperation...and this world's ours," Joe told her, "I'm assumin' Daryl did fill you in on the rules?"

"Of course. And they make a lot of sense if you ask me. Particularly your means of punishment. A slap on the wrist doesn't do much these days."

There was a pause, and Daryl reckoned that Joe was surprised by her answer, given that he himself had been fairly skeptical of the system Joe had put in place. But even from his profile, Daryl could see that Joe was smiling at her.

"True indeed," Joe agreed.

"And that claiming rule did come in handy when y'all first came across me. This might have been a wholly different conversation, otherwise. Or we might not be talking at all," Abby remarked.

"It was an…interestin' choice ya made. Runnin' into that herd like you did."

"Yeah, well. I'm fairly fond of my husband. Couldn't have him getting eaten."

"Mm," Joe acknowledged, "Ya got family?"

"Daryl," Abby immediately responded. And from just inside, her husband couldn't help but smile.

"Parents?"

"Well, everyone's got those, don't they? Mine lived across the country. I suppose there are a whole slew of places they could be by now, but if I had to guess…" Abby shrugged. There was no point in speculating. "How about you? Do you have family?"

"Did," Joe said slowly, "Had myself two sons."

"You lost them along the way?" Abby questioned softly.

"Nah, they died a long time before. Brought some whore into our house while I was out hunting. They were teenagers, reckless. Came home the next mornin' to find both of them bled out on the floor. The little slut cut both their throats and left 'em there. Left her bra on the sofa like a fuckin' calling card."

Even from his concealed position, Daryl could see the way Abby tensed up as Joe told his story.

"I'm so sorry," Abby said carefully, her tone heartfelt and sincere. "Did they ever find out who did it?"

"Nope," Joe said shortly, "Cops 'round my parts didn't give a shit 'bout a buncha white trash boys getting killed. Best just to believe that whore's rottin' away somewhere."

Daryl pushed the door open, making sure to let it creak ominously and alert them to his presence. Abby immediately gave him a wide smile, her expression somewhere in between worry and relief.

"Mornin'," Daryl grunted. He plopped down behind her, with her body placed possessively between his legs. "Arm's length my ass," he growled against her ear, just loud enough that he knew Joe would hear him as well. _Play her game_, he kept reminding himself, when Joe's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Daryl was giving Joe something here, willingly displaying that he was worried about Abby's safety, and that he didn't trust these men that they'd so suddenly aligned themselves with. But even that admission was a display of trust.

And if Joe began to trust them back, well, then they might stand a chance.

Abby shot Joe a conspiratorial smile, like they were sharing a secret. "Well, you can't blame him, can you?"

"S'pose not," Joe chuckled. "Like you said: some of my boys ain't exactly friendly."

Daryl smirked in response, then pressed a chaste kiss the Abby's neck.

"Ya hungry?" he rasped.

Abby leaned back into him. "Well, I wouldn't turn down a cheeseburger, if you were offering."

Daryl smirked, "Let's go hunt then. Catch us some breakfast." He rose to his feet and pulled Abby along with him. "We'll be back soon," he promised Joe, and the man gave him a nod of approval.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It didn't take Daryl long to spot Carol's trail, and follow it back to her makeshift camp. She was sitting patiently, awaiting their arrival. Or at the very least, waiting for _Daryl_ to arrive. Abby didn't fail to notice the way her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw the pair of them approaching together.

Maybe she thought Joe and his boys would have raped and killed her by now. Or maybe she assumed Daryl would want to speak to her alone. _Intimacy_, and all that bullshit that Carol seemed to think she and Daryl shared.

"You're still here," Daryl remarked with a flat tone, and Abby was suddenly brought back to their first night together. He'd spoken those words to her, breathed them out like a prayer, while holding her wrists too tightly and staring down at her like his prayers had been answered. There'd been so much relief, and vulnerability, the first time he'd said those words to her. The _only_ time, really, because after that, Daryl started to believe her when she said she wasn't going to leave him.

When he said the words to Carol, though, they were even and cold. As if he was just barely able to keep the bitterness from seeping through.

The gray-haired woman gave him a warm smile, "Of course I am."

"Carol, ain't safe for you to be followin' after us anymore," Daryl began.

"That's nonsense. Nothing's changed," Carol argued.

"_Everything_ has," Daryl growled, "Ain't safe for you to be out here by yourself. Won't be any help to us watchin' our own backs and yours too. Go back to that weird ass priest. We'll get away from 'em when we can and come meet you."

"I don't need you two to watch my back. I can take care of myself. You know that," Carol bit back, offended.

"Yeah? You gonna take care'a six men who wanna rape ya? That what you're gonna do? Shit's 'bout to hit the fan as it is, Carol. If they find you, I don't know that I'll be able to help you."

Daryl paced in front of her, exasperated and angry, with Abby just far enough away to give them their space.

"I'll keep my distance, Daryl. They'll never spot me. But I'm not leaving you out here alone."

"I ain't alone. Abby's with me," Daryl immediately declared.

Carol seemed to very nearly roll her eyes, but then think better of the gesture. Instead she simply scoffed, "You can't be serious."

Daryl's eyes went from annoyed to lethal. "You best watch your fuckin' tone," he seethed.

But Carol wouldn't relent. "What's _she_ going to do if those men try to hurt you? Protecting her is going to end up getting you killed, Daryl! She's not worth it!"

"Fuck you, she's _everything_!" Daryl nearly shouted. "There ain't no way I'd rather go out than to die protecting her. You don't know a damn thing about that woman, about what we've been through. And if you cared about me at all, you'd stop being such a stupid bitch and get the fuck out of here before those men we're with make ya wish you were dead."

Carol's calm demeanor faltered at his outburst. She took a deep breath and put on her most soulful expression.

"Daryl, I'm not going anywhere. This is what we do. We protect our own."

They were words he was more than familiar with. He'd heard them from Rick, from Hershel, on more occasions than he could count. _This is what we do. Family._ And he knew as soon as the words slipped from her thin lips exactly what this was: manipulation. His expression darkened, casting a grim shadow onto Carol as the innocent smile fell from her face.

"Like how you protected Karen and David?" Daryl hissed.

Carol took a small step back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was wondering when you'd bring that up."

"Oh, you were wonderin', huh? Wonderin' when I'd wanna talk about the fact that you murdered two of our own in cold blood?"

"Daryl…" Carol tried.

"NO!" he barked, pacing and gesturing furiously. "I mean, what the hell gives you the right? What, they're sick so let's just kill 'em? Ain't worth the food? Ain't worth the time? And it didn't stop the sickness from spreading, now, did it? Naw, you killed them for _nothin'_. And _Jesus Christ_ Carol you didn't even come to me! We coulda figured something out. Coulda quarantined people off sooner. But instead ya just fucking murdered them! Can't trust me all that much, can't _care_ about me nearly as much as you say, if it didn't even occur to you to come to me with that. Nah, the only thing you thought to do was kill. How the hell am I supposed to trust you alone with Abby? How the hell am I supposed to trust you alone with _anyone_?"

Carol stood still, frozen under his glare and stunned into silence.

"Daryl! Abby! Y'all out here?" Joe called from a ways off. But close enough that it was not at all comfortable.

"_Shit_," Daryl hissed. "C'mon," he rasped in Abby's direction, slowly losing his fire. "We gotta go."

He turned his back on Carol as soon as Abby was within his grasp, and headed back towards Joe and the others.


	20. Part 20

_**We're getting dangerously close to season 5 material, but don't y'all worry, I've got plenty of fun stuff planned before that happens. I've been in need of some motivation lately, so leave reviews please!**_

**Part Twenty**

The tension never left Daryl's body as the group slowly followed the tracks.

"Terminus?" Abby had asked hesitantly when they passed the first home-made sign.

"'Sanctuary for all'," Joe had scoffed, "Now ain't that a load of shit. Ain't no sanctuary for people like us."

"That's where we're heading?" Abby questioned.

"Oh, there's a 'we' now, huh?" Joe had laughed wholeheartedly, then explained, "We were in a house minding our own business and this walking piece of fecal matter was hiding in the home. Strangled our colleague Lou and left him to turn. Lou came at all of us. He lit out. We tracked him to these tracks, one of those signs, and thus we've got a destination in mind."

"You see his face?" Daryl suddenly rasped, his first sentence since they'd left Carol.

"Only Tony. That's enough for a reckoning," Joe said.

"Claimed!" Abby suddenly exclaimed, spotting something on the side of the tracks. She picked up the bushel and handed it back to Daryl, who plucked the two strawberries from the plant and handed one back to her. Joe smiled all the while, clearly happy that Abby was taking to claiming things the way he wished.

Abby shot Daryl a meaningful look. And a few miles down the line, Daryl roughly announced "Claimed," before shooting a bolt through a squirrel crossing their path.

That seemed to lift Joe's spirits all the more, and Abby gave Daryl an appreciative smile before they moved on.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

They veered off a mile or so into the woods to make camp for the night. Joe picked the spot, a slab of smooth rock leading up to a sharp cliff and a stream of fresh water. The boys didn't talk much about their past women, and for that Daryl was grateful. He didn't need Abby any more frightened than she was. And even at that, he didn't let her out of his sight once from the time they left Carol's side.

Daryl had spent most of the day brooding and sullen. He had no clue if Carol was still tracking them, but he hoped to God she wasn't, and not just because he was pissed at her. He fell asleep with Abby draped over his body, suppressing his frustration and letting himself be lulled by her warmth.

They didn't talk about what had happened. They couldn't, really, with all the men within earshot. But Abby soothed him with her body, running her fingers through his hair in that way that always seemed to calm him, and pressing her lips along his jaw and neck until the tension in his body finally dissipated.

When they awoke hours later, it was pitch black, and they were surrounded by the moans of the dead.

It was the sound of their homemade alarm devices that had alerted them first, clanging together and prompting Joe to shout, "Herd! Move!"

There was no time. Walkers were closing in from three sides, too many to see and certainly too many to fight. They went straight towards the water, because there was no other option. The fall would at least slow the walkers down, if it didn't kill Joe and rest in the process.

"Jump," Joe hissed, and the men followed his lead, doing their best to slide, rather than fall, down the rocky edge of the cliff.

"Daryl?" Abby whispered. It was a hell of a time to remember she was afraid of heights.

But her husband had it covered. He cradled her against his chest, took a deep breath, and stepped off the ledge.

Or at least he would have done, had a walker not clawed at the back of his shirt as soon as he lost his footing. It didn't keep them from falling straight down. No, the momentum of two bodies couldn't be stopped by one physically challenged reanimated corpse. But it did throw the pair slightly backwards, enough so that as they went over the cliff, Daryl's head clipped the rocky edge painfully.

They hit the ground, and Daryl wasn't moving.

"Daryl?"

No response.

Abby allowed herself one moment of panic, a full three seconds when fear overwhelmed her senses and made her blood run cold. Then, she sprung into action.

She dragged Daryl up out of the water and towards the rocky shore opposite them, closest to the cliff that they'd just plummeted over. Abby pressed two fingers to his neck and choked back a sob when she realized he still had a pulse. He wasn't conscious, and there was blood matting the hair at the back of his head, but he was _alive._

The first dead body fell from above them, careening itself towards the first live game it had likely seen in weeks. Joe smashed the thing's head with the heel of his boot, and splashed over to Abby and Daryl.

"We need to move!" he ordered.

"We're not going anywhere," Abby said firmly, glaring up at the man. "He hit his head on the fall. Has a bad enough concussion that he isn't conscious right now. _We_, we aren't going anywhere. The rest of you can stay, or go, but you're going to have to decide right fucking now."

Two more corpses fell from the sky. "We need to get the fuck out of here, Joe," Tony yelled too loudly.

There was a slight cave formed by the edge of the cliff, and Abby dragged Daryl towards it. She laid him out on the ground as softly as she could, cradling his head with the jacket she ripped from her own back, then ran back towards the rest of them.

"Ain't time for this shit," Len spat out.

Abby ran her blade through the closest walker's head, then dragged it over to where Daryl still lay. "You can run, and they'll chase you. Or you can help me get enough bodies stacked at that cave entrance that they won't be able to smell us or see us," Abby grunted. "The ones above can't see us down here. So long as we're tucked away by the time the rest of the herd moves through, we'll be able to ride it out."

Joe regarded her appraisingly. "You heard her boys, get to it." He rounded on the men, "Dan, Harley- you two go East down the river. Lead 'em that way then circle back. From down here, they'll be able to see ya, but won't be able to get to ya. When ya reach the bend a few miles down, you climb up the other side of the ravine and head straight back."

Abby had little time to contemplate how instantaneous the boys' obedience was, before Harley and Dan were gone, and the rest of them were piled into the fairly accommodating cave, with dead bodies serving as a makeshift door. She went immediately to Daryl's side, and sighed deeply with relief when she saw that he still had a pulse, was still breathing. She carefully maneuvered his head to the side, and surveyed the nasty gash at the base of his skull.

Walkers fell from above, clambered past, and all the while Abby carefully sewed her husband back together, taking note of his every micro expression in anticipation of his rude awakening.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Carol wasn't far away at all. She was perched in a tree directly opposite, looking down into the cave at Daryl's motionless form. She could see clear as day the moment his hand twitched, then jumped up towards the source of his pain. But then she saw the way Abby whispered to him, pressed her mouth to his ear and calmed him only moments later.

Daryl was in an immense amount of pain; that much was clear. He was the kind of man who wouldn't complain to his own mother that his hand was on fire, let alone show such significant weakness in front of Joe's men. But even from her partially concealed view, Carol could see the way his face was contorting, the way he was writhing back and forth, disoriented and distressed. All that pain, and all it took was a few whispered words for Abby to settle him. It didn't make sense.

"Abby," Daryl groaned desperately, "Abby."

He didn't remember what had happened. Didn't know where he was. All he could focus on right now was the bright hot pain in his head, searing and ripping through him until he felt tears run down his cheeks. And God, he just wanted her to make it stop.

"Abby…" he half sobbed, reaching blindly. _Please be here. Need you. Hurts. _

"Shh," she gently soothed, only inches from his ear. It took him a moment more to realize he was laying half in her lap. "I'm right here. You're alright. I know it hurts, but I need you to be quiet for me."

Only then did Daryl distinguish the moans from the pounding in his skull.

She felt him stiffen in his arms, trying to gain his resolve enough to protect her if need be. But she also felt clear as day the second he realized that he wouldn't be protecting anyone in the near future. Daryl tried to sit up, only to be hit with an intense wave of nausea, falling back into Abby's waiting arms and biting his lip to stifle the cry of pain. He curled back into her, burying his head in her arm and mumbling her name against her skin.

"I know, I know…" she whispered to him, "Just hold on for me, a little bit longer. You're safe. I'm right here."

"Don't let me turn," he suddenly bit out, near frantic, "Please, Abby, don't let me- you've gotta-"

"Shh, shh hey that's not going to happen. I know it hurts, but you're not dying. In a few hours, this'll just seem like a bad dream. You won't even remember what this feels like." She stroked his hair softly, murmuring to him, "You hit your head when we fell, remember? You've got a concussion now; and I know it hurts really badly but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. You and me, we're just going to sit right here and wait for it to let up, okay? I love you, and you're going to be just fine, Daryl. Just fine."

For the next hour, Carol watched from above as Daryl shook in Abby's arms. She watched Abby stroke lightly over Daryl's shoulders and chest, run her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. Carol watched Abby soothe him in a way Daryl had never allowed her. She wasn't invading his personal space; he welcomed it, needed it even. The way he pushed himself into her body, held tightly to her hand through every sharp burst of pain, those things said it all.

Once the last of the walkers had strolled past, Joe and his men worked to move the bodies out of the way.

"Best to camp here, for the rest of the night," Joe decided, "Shack up in the cave with a guard at the entrance."

Daryl had calmed, somewhat, as the herd had passed them by. The tension in his body had slowly unwound, and his desperate whispers of Abby's name had slowed then stopped entirely.

"He gonna live?" Len asked roughly, standing over the pair.

"I ain't deaf," Daryl immediately grumbled, and Abby grinned widely.

"Well, his charming personality is back in spades, so I imagine he'll be just fine."

When he became restless in her embrace, Abby helped him to slowly sit up on his own, back propped against the cave wall. Daryl slowly eyed his surroundings, finally settling on the anxious, but relieved smile on Abby's face.

"They drag me in here?"

"I did!" Abby proclaimed in mock offense.

Daryl finally broken into a slight smirk. "Second time you've dragged my unconscious ass outta danger. Gonna give a man a complex."

"How's your head?"

"Hurts," he answered honestly. "Not so bad as before, though. Was fuckin' pounding so bad I couldn't think straight. Thought I was…"

"Dying?" Abby offered, and Daryl grunted the affirmative, not going so far to shake his head and risk setting off another round of blood-thumping pain.

"Yeah." They watched as Dan and Harley rejoined the group, Joe clapping each on the shoulder for a job well done. "Convinced 'em to stick around, huh?"

"Guess I must have."

"M'surprised they didn't take off with ya and leave me for bait."

"You think so little of us?" Joe interjected, coming to crouch down next to them.

Daryl shrugged. "Not so much, anymore."

"Well that's good, son. That's real good. You take the night and rest up." Joe left them to hear Dan and Harley's report, and Daryl grasped Abby's hand tightly in his own.

"So what's the diagnosis?"

"Concussion- a bad one," Abby said, "I'm going to wake you up every couple of hours tonight. Keep an eye on you. But if the pain is already fading enough for you to be sitting up and talking, then that's a pretty good sign. I'd say that by tomorrow morning, you should at least be able to walk."

"S'good," Daryl mumbled, "It gonna stop hurtin' any time soon?"

"It'll probably die down to a dull headache by tomorrow," Abby assured him, "But then stay like that for a while, a week, maybe more."

Daryl clenched his eyes shut, once. "You gonna take care of me?" he asked. His voice was smaller than she was used to, back to that uncertain man she'd plucked from the street weeks before.

"Of course I will. I _love _you," Abby promised him softly, and wasn't the least bit surprised to next feel him pull her into his body, tucking her protectively under his chin and arm.

"I was so scared," Abby whispered later on in the night, after the second time she'd been forced to wake him.

"M'alright now."

"You didn't look it."

"Never gonna leave you. Anyways, Dixons are tough as nails. Ain't got nothin' to worry about." He pressed his lips to her hair. "You're so fuckin' strong, Abby. Dealin' with all this shit today. Love you."

"Love you more."


End file.

Walking Dead, Hurt-Comfort, Romance